Tempest
by MP - Mary Contrary
Summary: What if T'Pol had never been assigned to the Enterprise...and they hadn't caught up with the Xyrillians in time as a result? By request, an AU diverging rather dramatically from the events of "Unexpected". Set at the onset of the Earth/Romulan war.
1. Chapter 1

**Alpha Centauri**  
><strong>Asteroid 9-Parilla<strong>  
><strong><em>(October 14, 2156)<em>**

As asteroids go, there wasn't anything special or noteworthy about 9-Parilla. At least, to all outward appearances. Were it not just large enough to have been named in the first place, there would be nothing setting it apart from the million others in the belt. Even among those likewise named it wouldn't seem in any way unique.

_Within _the asteroid however, if one bothered to look within, one would find an interesting collection of small, interconnected compartments, together comprising a small but perfectly adequate Romulan listening post. Assuming one were capable of recognizing it for what it was. One might otherwise assume it to be, perhaps just as shockingly, a _Vulcan _listening post, once the men operating it came into view.

There weren't many in the universe, relatively speaking, who would recognize the difference between the two species at second glance. Or even that the inhabitants of the listening post required a second glance in the first place.

In the main room, where the subspace scanner and transceiver fed their data to and from the consoles positioned around the room, five Romulans worked at a leisurely pace. There was often enough a respectable amount of communications traffic going on in the system to occupy themselves with. And, as well, enough subspace traffic going _through _the system. Quite a lot of it being official, government-encrypted communications and, just as importantly perhaps, Starfleet comm traffic. But the men had been at this for many months, and the routine had long since become just that. Routine.

But much like the asteroid itself, outward appearances would have proven deceptive to any observer. Despite the men's leisurely work pace and manner there was quite a lot going on beneath the surface. Due almost entirely to the fact that Major Talen had received, and was currently reviewing, a deeply encoded, personal communication from…someone. None of the men, Uhlan in rank all of them, had the clearance to even know who the communication had come from.

When Major Talen strode briskly into the main room of the listening post then, they were immediately attentive. As one of only four individual compartments comprising the post it didn't take him long to get there from his private quarters, where he'd taken the transmission. So the men turned expectantly from their work as he entered, already tense and hoping the order they had long awaited had finally been received. They'd been waiting for it for quite a long time…

Talen glanced over them before speaking. It was obvious the men were listening, were quite prepared to respond immediately and, clearly, had guessed what orders he'd received. They were and had for many months been as eager as he to depart this hateful rock, after all. But it wouldn't be appropriate to appear eager himself. As far as they knew, or should have known anyway, his sole concern was doing his duty to the Empire. However uncomfortable and utterly boring that duty might be.

"We have new orders." He said, stiffly. "We are to abandoned the post. The _Valek _has already arrived and a shuttle is on the way. Secure intelligence and prepare to depart."

The men were scurrying to arm the parathermite charges, pulling panels from the walls and floor that covered them, disengaging safely mechanisms. Before Talen could even fully turn around to begin securing his own personal quarters, most of the charges had already been set and were ready to begin countdown.

One of the men spoke behind him quietly, almost to himself.

"I was beginning to think this day would never come." He said.

Talen stopped, halfway back to his quarters. That had been D'Val. And the sentiment was one best not spoken aloud. So he turned back and stared at the man, until he caught his eye. Because that required a response.

When D'Val realized the major was staring at him, he stopped working. And so Major Talen smirked at him.

"Eager to return to Romulus, D'Val?" He said.

The Uhlan deflated immediately, looking more than a little discouraged.

"I hope that's not where we're…" He began.

"It is." Talen interrupted, with a nod. Still smirking. And many of the other men in the room had begun to as well, even as they continued preparing the post for its imminent destruction.

None of them particularly liked D'Val. He was not appropriately loyal to the Empire, which was enough to earn their hatred all on its own. But he was a whiner besides, and a coward. Lazy as well, in point of fact. And those qualities over and above the reason he'd been posted there with them in the first place were quite enough to earn their spite.

So, in the end, they despised him more than they hated him and he'd long since become an outlet for their frustrations.

Looking around at the utter lack of sympathy offered him by his…comrades, D'Val was somewhat moved to defend himself. Despite many months of abuse, he still attempted to appeal to sympathy now and then. As incredible as that might be.

"I think I've suffered enough." D'Val whined, somewhat desperately.

That earned him a harsh look from every other man there, who would otherwise have not stopped working long enough to give him one. It was not for him to decide when he'd been punished sufficiently, after all. He would be done here when the _Empire _decided he'd suffered enough.

Talen snorted. "If I had my way, D'Val, you'd stay here. But your brother's orders concerning you were very specific. Pack your belongings quickly, Uhlan, before I am tempted to fail in that duty."

With that the major turned away, already seeming to put the man out of mind. Soon enough he wouldn't be his problem anymore. As soon as the very specific orders were implemented, at least.

Retrieving his own belongings was a simple matter. There wasn't much to them, after all. And, of course, he'd kept everything that he could packed and ready, in preparation for departure, since the first day when he'd arrived. In little more than a minute or two he was at the airlock door with his bags, noting with some amusement that the rest of the team were already arriving as well. Having, naturally enough, practiced the same eager preparedness to abandon the uncomfortable rock that he had. Though, of course, none of them would ever be so disloyal as to communicate that.

D'Val was the last to arrive, never having been one for preparedness. Or for any other form of foresight. Neither attention to detail or even anything resembling simple efficiency. He was only technically a member of the team, having been more or less conscripted into this duty to get him off Romulus. Out of sight and mind.

And as a form of punishment of course, before he met his end. His brother being rather the vengeful and heavy-handed sort. D'Val had been foolish enough to have slept with his own cousin three years ago, which naturally caused his family quite a lot of embarrassment when that got out. A harsh enough thing for any common family to be confronted with but as a relative of the Praetor, however distantly, that was simply outrageous. It demanded, in fact, that someone be made a terrible example of.

And so D'Val had been and would be, the culmination of that to occur today. Now, at this moment.

So when D'Val finally approached, frowning and dragging his bag at his knee, Major Talen spoke.

"Uhlan D'Val," Talen said, facing him from the airlock door. Immediately before the very welcomed 'thump' of the shuttle docking outside resounded within.

D'Val looked up, his eyes wide and…stupid. Painting for all the world the perfect picture of that discomfiting relative any proper noble family would be glad to rid themselves of.

"Concerning those orders I mentioned." Talen said, drawing his disruptor. And he waited just a moment, to allow D'Val time to see him draw the weapon. To see it and realize what was about to happen.

Not quite enough time to beg for his life, or even express surprise. Talen wasn't interested in listening to anything like that.

The major raised and fired the disruptor smoothly, as if he'd shot men in cold blood in such manner a hundred times before. Which, while not quite accurate numerically, was close enough to the truth in every other way.

So D'Val wasn't allowed the opportunity to gasp, or yell, or express his opinion about the fact that he was about to be shot. He did, however, express the pain associated with _being _shot quite well. And loudly. As he fell back to the floor, sliding clumsily over his own luggage.

Major Talen and two other men, who felt they could spare the time to do so, sneered at the sight a moment before turning to leave the post behind them. Following behind the others who didn't want to waste another moment, even to express their distain for D'Val crying and sniveling on the floor. They passed through and shut the airlock door securely behind them in only a moment. Leaving D'Val, abandoned and wounded, within the asteroid's hidden listening post, to wail at the injustice of it all. And the agony of being shot in the stomach.

D'Val, of course, spent just exactly too long wailing about all of that. Long enough that he wasn't quite able to crawl about quickly enough, gravely injured and still crying, to disable any of the parathermite charges before they detonated and began to burn.

Fortunately for him, and seemingly against all odds, two of them failed to detonate.

* * *

><p><strong><em>(Eleven hours later)<em>**

The Vulcan shuttle angled in on its approach, moving as rapidly as was logical, while maintaining readiness to respond to any undetected threat. In the rear compartment Commander T'Pol and Major Tulok donned EVA suits while Subaltern T'Lea flew the shuttle.

This would be the sixth such post they'd investigated in as many months. Judging from past experience and the sensor readings the _Kolinahr _had relayed, they wouldn't otherwise have expected to find anything more than they had before. A jumbled, melted mass of what might once have been something intelligence could be gleaned from. Here, however, a life form reading had been detected. Weak perhaps, but nonetheless. Which presented exactly the source of intelligence one might hope for in such situations. A veritable boon perhaps, if they could get to it quickly enough. The life signs in question being rather weak, after all.

"Approaching 500 meters, Commander." T'Lea reported, from the pilot's station fore.

T'Pol hiked the EVA frame over her head and began to secure it to her chest. And with her head now clear, responded.

"Inform the _Kolinahr_," She said. "Then begin docking immediately. You will secure the shuttle while Tulok and I investigate the post."

Tulok arched an eyebrow in question as he finished checking his own suit for proper seals. He'd expected they'd all be participating in the investigation, as they had in every other instance. But seeing that, T'Pol answered the unspoken query.

"The life sign in the post represents a departure from the norm." She advised. "We are dealing with Romulans, Major."

Tulok only nodded. Romulans were disturbingly…deceitful, after all. So it was best to exercise caution of course.

Once the shuttle docked with that section of bare rock the _Kolinahr_'s sensors insisted was an airlock, they were fully dressed for EVA. And armed, both sporting phaser rifles.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Kolinahr<br>_Surak Class Light Explorer**

Captain S'Kon observed the shuttle on the main view screen. Having docked already there was little else to see, though he supposed he would be on hand to witness its destruction by some undetected booby trap. Largely what he expected would happen, as he among all the senior officers of the ship was the only one aware of just what this listening post represented. Or, rather, _who _was responsible for this thing sitting in Human space as it was.

"Shuttle reports secure seal." The Communications officer reported. "Commander T'Pol has begun circumventing the airlock security."

S'Kon nodded. "Secure the channel and open it to the bridge."

The Comm officer tapped the console before her, then nodded back to the captain.

"Commander T'Pol, report." S'Kon said, addressing the air around him. And, after a notable pause…

"_Kolinahr, we are on site and attempting to access the airlock." _

"Maintain open channel and report your progress." S'Kon ordered.

Another pause.

"_Respectfully, as this is an intelligence gathering mission, that may prove unwise on an open channel."_

"The channel is secure, Commander." S'Kon pointed out.

"_It is open to the bridge, Captain."_

Captain S'Kon said nothing to that, however. Which left the ball squarely in T'Pol's court, leaving her to force the issue if she decided it was warranted.

Which she apparently did not.

"_Airlock security disabled." _She reported. _"Airlock is open and we are entering the station."_

S'Kon listened intently, not only for reports from the intelligence officer herself but for anything in the background as well. As illogical as it might be, he found himself distressingly uncomfortable with the situation. Being familiar enough with Humans from past encounters, he knew well their tendency to follow 'gut feelings' and 'intuition', and it was not something he would ever have allowed himself to be accused of.

But he was guilty of it often enough regardless. As he was now, having an unusually strong 'feeling' that something was entirely amiss here. Something _threateningly _amiss. Perhaps it merely stemmed form the awareness that they were dealing with Romulans, a people who'd garnered quite an intimidating reputation for menace. But whatever the reason, the feeling was there and insisted upon some manner of response.

So he paid very close attention to the open channel. Waiting and listening for anything that might illuminate the threat he felt here, so that it could be responded to efficiently and quickly. This naturally distracted his attentions away from every other incoming source of data. But for all of those, the remaining bridge crew stood ready and focused on monitoring.

The Vulcan Tactical officer among them was both talented and experienced. But as the Romulan Helm officer of the approaching Bird of Prey was talented and experienced as well, he'd selected a vector that kept the cloaked vessel just precisely on the outer edge of the binary system's second star, relative to the _Kolinahr_. The slight distortion, barely perceptible, resulting from star's magnetic field masking any failings of the Bird of Prey's cloak, should any sensor operator on the _Kolinahr _be capable enough to detect it in the first place. Which the Romulan helmsman had been wise enough to assume they would be.

And so the helmsman had been able to approach undetected to well within effective range of the Bird of Prey's nuclear fusion torpedo system. As he'd been ordered, and as he was quite happy to achieve.

This would be their first kill in the war, after all. The first _Vulcan _kill as well, which made for quite a welcomed opportunity.

* * *

><p>T'Pol turned her head enough to share a look with Major Tulok through her EVA suit visor, her silent communication received and acknowledged without a word spoken. If the captain of the <em>Kolinahr <em>insisted on an open channel, then so be it. But they would offer nothing that might compromise intelligence with the entire bridge staff.

She returned her attention to her tricorder, assessing and translating the readings she took of the air around them and of the structure itself.

"Parathermite charges have rendered the atmosphere toxic." She reported, both to Tulok and the listening _Kolinahr_. "We are continuing forward to the larger chamber on the left."

She stepped slightly aside, allowing Tulok to the lead the way with his phaser rifle ready. She followed behind, leaving him enough space to react to any threat, while she continued to monitor the tricorder in the hopes of perceiving such a threat before it might leap out at them.

"_Sensor readings suggest the larger chamber would be the communications station you suspect here." _S'Kon offered. _"The remains of subspace electronics beneath the chamber would indicate a transceiver capable of intercepting any communication in the system."_

"Acknowledged." T'Pol said, simply. Having already arrived in the chamber that much was readily apparent. As was the fact nearly everything there had been reduced to slag, beyond hope of offering any useful information but what they already knew. It was indeed a Romulan listening post. What it had overheard and what communications it might have shared with any central authority could not be determined from _this_, though.

"_Kolinahr_, where is the life sign in relation to our current position?" T'Pol asked.

"_Sensors reports…six meters from your position, east according to the asteroid's relative polar position."_

T'Pol raised an eyebrow at that, but only slightly. The asteroid couldn't be said precisely to have a polar position, but the directions were rough enough to follow. That would place the life sign reading in the first of two rooms to the right, across the entryway corridor. The door of the second, once they stepped back outside, had clearly been melted off its frame, revealing that the interior was likely completely destroyed.

This door, however, was somewhat intact, showing only slight warping as a result of the intense heat that assailed it from the corridor. Which made it the logical place to begin looking for survivors anyway, as it represented what may be the only area in the listening post that hadn't been subjected to heat intense enough to warp solid steel.

"_The life sign continues to be relatively stable but weak, Commander." _The captain reported. _"Doctor V'Sella reports she is ready to receive the wounded personnel."_

"Understood, _Kolinahr_." T'Pol responded. "I estimate our departure in twenty minutes."

There was no response for a moment from the _Kolinahr_. So T'Pol used the delay to begin preparing the small cutting tool she produced from the EVA suit's tool belt.

"_Doctor V'Sella advises a more expeditious retrieval, Commander."_

"Recovering any intelligence the station might offer would be our primary concern here, _Kolinahr_." T'Pol said, turning to begin cutting along the door airtight seal. "We will attempt to ensure the prisoner is stabilized and secured before continuing our investigation here, of course."

"_Very well, Commander." _Captain S'Kon replied. Though he allowed a nearly inappropriate amount of disapproval in his tone. Which T'Pol ignored.

"Relay our time estimate to the T'Lea aboard the shuttle, _Kolinahr_. So that she may prepare to receive the prisoner."

"_Communications is doing so now, Commander. May I ask what prepar-?"_

"_Sensor contact, port. 8,000 kilometers."_

T'Pol paused after a moment. Just long enough for her to realize the communication wasn't from Captain S'Kon. And wasn't intended for her. That had been the Tactical officer of the _Kolinahr_, apparently, considering what he'd said…

"_Identify."_

"_Profile sugges-…incoming torpedoes, Captain!"_

"_Combat alerts. Raise…"_

Loud thumping, twice. Easily audibly over the open channel. Something sizzled for a quick moment in the background, eliciting a short exclamation of surprise from someone on the bridge.

"…_raise shields, charge weapons."_

T'Pol stopped cutting on the frame of the door and stood up again quickly, meeting Tulok's concerned look.

The _Kolinahr _was under attack.

By a vessel that had appeared out of nowhere, within 8,000 kilometers…

"_Romulan frigate. They are preparing again to fire, Captain."_

"_Tactical, lock on phase cannons and fire at will."_

Again communicating without a word, Tulok removed the cutting tool from his own belt and both he and T'Pol began cutting the door free together.

It would seem their investigation had been preempted.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Kolinahr  
><em>Surak Class Light Explorer**

The Engineering Officer reported quickly, before Tactical could cut him off.

"Shields are up." He said. "Operation systems have suffered minor damage. No hull breach."

"We have weapons lock. Firing." Tactical reported, immediately after. "Impact…their shields are at 81.2%."

"Romulan vessel has matched speed and vector." The Sensor officer announced. "Range is 7,800 kilometers, alongside to port."

Captain S'Kon considered quickly, assessing the situation. They were barely moving at the moment having only just maneuvered, as combat protocol required, in the attempt to evade incoming torpedoes. If the Romulans were matching speed and vector now then they intended to maintain a dominant tactical position.

Naturally. They would have been foolish to do otherwise, just as he would be.

"Reciprocate. Prepare to match speed and vector as well." S'Kon ordered. "Maintain current course, one quarter impulse. Tactical, continue fire, all phase cannons."

"Firing." Tactical reported instantly, having already received the order to fire at will.

Twin crimson beams lanced out from the _Kolinahr_, sliding along the Bird of Prey's wing, eliciting a small bloom of fire and debris at one small point. A green spark leaping out from the enemy vessel's underbelly in response.

"Impact, hull breach starboard wing." Tactical reported. "Target shields at 79.4%. Incoming torpedo."

The _Kolinahr _shook a half second later, lurching slightly from the impact. The Science console sparked loudly for a moment, mirroring the same fate that had befallen the Engineering console a moment before. Neither had been knocked out of commission and there were no injuries in either case. However…

"Impact, ring nacelle." Engineering reported. "Warp propulsion offline. Explosion and hull breach reported on deck C, aft. Impulse propulsion offline."

"Our shields are at 82.4%." Tactical reported.

That was exceedingly unfortunate, S'Kon mused. Their shields were still up and relatively strong, yet the torpedo had managed to cut through anyway, its remaining mass smashing into the warp nacelle and damaging impulse engines.

An incredibly lucky shot indeed. Which did not bode well so early in the battle.

So they were now drifting, which would eliminate the possibility of tactical maneuvering of any sort and provide their Romulan opponent no difficulty in maintaining the dominant position their surprise attack had afforded them.

"Focus emergency repairs on impulse propulsion." S'Kon ordered.

It hardly mattered, of course. The battle would likely be over before such repairs could allow them to maneuver again. If at all. But it was the logical order to give under the current circumstances.

"Firing." Tactical announced.

Crimson beams lanced out again from the _Kolinahr_ at the Romulan vessel far off to one side, flaring again along the same wing they'd struck at a moment before. Another plume of fire and debris, larger than before.

"Impact, starboard wing." Tactical reported. "Hull breach detected. Target shields at 54.4%…incoming torpedoes."

Again the _Kolinahr _shook as glowing green ordnance drove out and struck, one directly behind the other.

"Impacts, port side. No hull breaches." Engineering reported. "Operation systems have suffered moderate damage. Port sensor receptors damaged."

The bridge crew remained calm and attended with all focus to their duties, despite the situation. They were drifting, exchanging deadly fire with a Romulan vessel that had matched them hit for hit so far. But they were Vulcan, all of them. The minor prospect of impending death would hardly shake them from their resolve to attend their duties with efficiency.

But S'Kon's brow furrowed. Their response time would now be markedly degraded, with various malfunctions and failure occurring throughout the ship. Serving all the more to hamper their ability to respond aggressively. And with sensor systems along that side degraded…

"Our shields are at 38.2.%." Tactical announced. "Target lock lost. Unable to lock weapons. Recalculating."

Impressive, S'Kon thought. Sarem, the Tactical officer, was indeed a highly skilled and valuable addition to the first shift bridge crew. The quick and efficient adaptation to having lost their ability to lock weapons was surely worthy of notation in his next evaluation. Assuming there was one.

"Engineering offers temporary impulse." Engineering reported. "One quarter, half maneuverability for ten seconds. However, this will cause significant damage to…"

"Hard about to starboard, up Z-axis at current plane, all possible speed." S'Kon interrupted.

The _Kolinahr _groaned as it slid reluctantly to starboard, away from the enemy vessel, a full 180 degrees and rising. And she was suddenly behind, above and limping back the way she'd come, leaving the Bird of Prey drifting forward in the opposite direction, still matching course with a ship that wasn't there anymore.

Rising as it did so in order to force a split second longer assessment of their sudden maneuver. S'Kon hoping to gain every fraction of a second before the Romulan captain responded.

"Target has altered course, matching speed and orientation." Tactical reported. "They are aft, pursuing, down 32 degrees. Range 52,000 kilometers."

Very well, then. They had been prepared to otherwise respond, but they hadn't expected them to alter their elevation. That would serve well enough. The _Kolinahr _was now beyond the Bird of Prey's effective torpedo range, if intelligence estimates there were correct. But she was not beyond the effective range of her own phase cannons…

"Target has increased speed, approaching 33,000 kilometers." Tactical reported. "Now, 30,000 kilometers. Firing…no impact."

The _Kolinahr's _groaning suddenly ceased…and she _convulsed_. The entire bridge crew forced to grab hold of whatever was at hand to avoid losing their seats.

"Engineering reports explosion in the engine room. Massive damage to engineering. Hull breach, deck C, port." The Engineering Officer reported. "Impulse propulsion offline."

"Our shields are at 31.1%" Tactical reported.

So that gambit had failed, their one shot while out of range of the Bird of Prey's torpedoes had missed entirely. Again they were drifting and unable to maneuver, having gained nothing but a disabled engineering department. And probably the loss of the majority of their engineering crew.

There was no other logical response but to simply continuing fire and hope for the best…

"Firing." Tactical reported. "Impact, forward amidships. Hull breach detected. Target shields at 32.9%."

S'Kon waited for the return shot from the Romulan ship. Perhaps only two more such exchanges, at the current rate, would bring the battle to its inevitable conclusion. In all probability, that being the destruction of the _Kolinahr_. With perhaps at least significant damage to the Bird of Prey in the process, if matters progressed as they had so far…

"Fluctuations in the target's power grid detected…they are disengaging." Tactical reported, his eyebrow raised in surprise. "Range now 18,000 kilometers, full impulse at 165 degree departure…they have now gone to warp, Captain."

S'Kon raised an eyebrow as well, turning fully to match the Tactical officer's own and meet his eye.

Romulans retreating? Especially with victory so obviously within their reach?

With a glance, Sarem noted the unspoken question. And rechecked his tactical sensor readings carefully before nodded back at the Captain.

"Indeed," He said. "The Romulan Bird of Prey has disengaged and gone to warp."

"Confirmed." The Science officer reported immediately. "The vessel did not utilize its stealth capability and its warp trail is clearly evident as well."

S'Kon considered that surprising turn of events.

And found he could discern no obvious explanation for it. So, being forced to rely upon assumption, the logical assumption was that it represented a 'trick' of some sort.

They were Romulans, after all.

"Contact Commander T'Pol." He ordered. "Have her abandon the asteroid and return to the _Kolinahr _immediately."

The Comm officer glanced at her console, to confirm the obvious.

"That channel remains open, Captain." She said.

"_Indeed." _T'Pol interjected, across the bridge comm. _"I have monitored the battle from here. It would seem congratulations are in order, Captain, although I find the Romulan's behavior suspect."_

"And I as well." S'Kon acknowledged. "Return to the ship immediately."

"_I estimate departure in approximately twelve minutes." _

S'Kon paused, replaying the short exchange in his head quickly to be sure he hadn't missed some obvious miscommunication somewhere.

"Commander T'Pol." Skon said, sternly. "I specified 'immediately'. Twelve minutes does not constitute an immediate action."

"_We have recovered the survivor and are currently rendering first aid. Were we to relocate him to the shuttle at this time, this would likely place his life in jeopardy. Considering your vessel's impulse and warp engines have both been disabled, I recommend contacting Alpha Centauri defense forces. I am certain you can expect the Humans to respond aggressively to such a request, and very likely in force, if you are concerned that the Romulan vessel may return."_

"That is indeed my concern." S'Kon argued…

…then reconsidered.

"And I find your advice to be sound. Return to the _Kolinahr _as soon as you are able."

Turning to the Comm officer, he issued the order. "Contact Alpha Centauri defense forces in the system, Lieutenant."

"Understood, Captain." The Comm officer acknowledge, already tapping rapidly at her console…then stopped to listen intently to her comm…

"I have them, Captain." She reported, a moment later. "It would seem they have contacted _us_."

S'Kon nodded. "Onscreen."

The main view screen lit up immediately, revealing an irritable Human Starfleet officer. Seated at a desk, probably in some naval station in the system, he was turned slightly to face the communications screen to one side. He'd apparently made the call directly from his office.

Before S'Kon could speak, the Human was already demanding answers.

"This is Colonel Hauser, Alpha Centauri Defense Force." The Human grumbled. "We're picking up a lot of fireworks out your way. Mind telling us what you're up to out there?"

"Colonel, we were just attempting to contact you." S'Kon began.

"Well, I'm relieved to hear that." Hauser frowned. "Because the reports I'm getting describe a Vulcan Surak class operating well inside the system, exchanging fire with another vessel. Neither of which are supposed to be here. And one of which, I'm a little concerned to find, _isn't _here any more."

"We have come under attack, Colonel." S'Kon attempted again. "We have suffered…"

"I've already got the 'under attack' part." Hauser snapped. "Who and why is what I need to hear right now, Captain. _Right _now."

"A Romulan frigate, Colonel." S'Kon said, simply.

The Human stared for a moment, his eyes narrowing…then nodded sharply.

"I'll have the nearest available Starfleet vessel there pronto. A full task force in thirty minutes. What's your current status?"

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**En route to Alpha Centauri**

Trip followed Ah'len and Lynn down the walkway, overlooking the ocean as it curved around the massive building to the apartment complex where they lived. Where Ah'len and Lynn lived, of course. He'd never really been there himself. Probably never would.

The sun was just beginning to set, making for much the same scene as the first time he'd ever witnessed the planet surface. In the holographic chamber aboard Ah'len's ship, just a few years ago.

"This is _T'Ren'ha_." Lynn said brightly, pointing out over the ocean. "It's very big and there are birds. Mother says we can feed them _yov'he _nuts. But you have to do it on the bottom down there, because they poop."

Trip glanced out at the…birds, if you could call them that. Flying lizards, more like. But, yeah, he figured they probably would poop all over the place if you threw them nuts or something from up here. He'd seen it all before of course, so the 'birds' didn't interest him much. He just followed the pair down the walkway, as he'd done many times before. Listening to Lynn go on and on, excited to show off her home world and the city where she lived.

Her giggle when she mentioned birds pooping always made him smile. And the sounds of the ocean always relaxed him, made him feel like he was a part of things here…

Couldn't _smell _the ocean, though. Not like on Ah'len's ship. And you couldn't feel the salt air on your skin, either. The tech wasn't anywhere near catching up to _that _level of detail.

But they were coming up on that part now…where Lynn would ask him to pick her up and carry her. The tech wasn't quite up to par there either and things got awkward when the computer tried to compensate for the subtle differences between current personal interaction and prerecorded ones. And he couldn't _not _pick her up…because she'd just float up in the air, hugging the spot where he was supposed to be standing, holding her…and that would just be weird.

And then she'd say that thing that always got him upset…

So, yeah. We'll just skip that part again.

Trip fumbled with the remote in his hand, finally getting the scene to jump ahead a little. Before it was too late.

Ah'len's apartment, now. Strange and rusty red, filled with furnishings and various objects you could almost guess the purpose of. Lynn was sitting on the floor, showing him the interactive play set she'd received as a reward for her fourth annual…something or other he never had quite understood. Some kind of educational milestone, best he could figure. Not quite a fifth birthday celebration but something roughly equivalent.

"…name is U'Tilla." Lynn was saying, holding up the hand-sized doll for review. "She doesn't like Ma'Ran. But she and E'Lou grow _del'emen _in the living room, because the grower really works! Watch!"

Lynn set about picking tiny bits of green something or other from the 'grower' patch in the little play set's 'living room' at her feet. Because the grower really worked and all. You could even eat it, though it wasn't really _del'emen_. It was some other kind of little plant that grew fast enough to be exciting and fun for five year old girls to play with…

"It's not really _del'emen_." Lynn said, chewing the tiny bit of green plant. "Because that takes too long to grow. This grows really quick."

Lynn continued showing off her play set, providing a few examples of play with the dolls that accompanied it. Including the very interesting interaction between U'Tilla and E'Lou. Apparently there was some drama brewing there concerning Ma'Ran parking his…flying car or something…on top of the house. Which was just unacceptable, of course.

Trip's gaze wandered, taking in the apartment as he always did at this point. It made him feel a little guilty not paying attention to something Lynn was so excited to show him…but she'd showed him many times before. He knew the whole scene by heart. The apartment, though…he always found himself imagining being there. How'd he'd fit in there.

And always a little uncomfortable at how utterly he didn't fit in there at all. Which would draw his gaze inevitably to Ah'len, standing quietly and politely at the periphery. Watching Lynn interact with her birther, saying nothing and offering no intrusion. Just watching.

She was always a little uncomfortable standing there, he'd realized long ago. The whole political nightmare that had followed, the public humiliation she'd endured when the whole mess had broken lose back home. It'd been pretty awful all around, no matter how you looked at it. So, yeah, he supposed it must be pretty damned awkward for her and all.

He couldn't muster a whole lot of sympathy for her, though. And didn't really care to.

Still, whatever else he might say about her, he had to admit it. She'd been pretty stubborn about ensuring Lynn had some measure of contact with her birther, entirely because it was important to Lynn and played such a big part in her development. He might have a lot to hold against her overall but that damned near made up for a lot of it. Anyone else probably wouldn't have bothered with all the effort of arranging these few subspace holo-comms, and all the trouble associated with _that_.

"Oh! I forgot to show you!" Lynn exclaimed, jumping to her feet suddenly. The play set and the polite discussion going on between U'Tilla and E'Lou immediately abandoned.

"Come see this!" She said, darting off down the corridor and out of the apartment. Fast enough that he always jumped ahead a bit to avoid having to jog after her. It was a long way to the public holo-comm, after all. He did spare a second or two watching her run down the walkway, though. Because that was always pretty cute.

Trip flicked the remote again, zapping forward a few minutes. Squinting a bit since he had to fast forward rather than scene jump, and that could be kind of disorienting.

The public access holo-comm chamber. Walls, floor and ceiling the same scintillating rainbow as the room where he now stood would be, if the current recording didn't occupy it.

"…chamber!" Lynn was saying. "So that's the exciting thing! I'm standing right there, right now! And you're far, far away in _your _chamber! And but we're both _here_, too! Isn't that exciting?"

Trip grinned a bit, despite himself. Her excitement was always infectious. She just loved the idea of being in two or three different places at one time. She'd go on a bit now about how exciting it would be if you could have a holo-comm with someone, where both of you go into a holo-comm, inside the holo-comm, with someone else from inside the holo-comm. And then maybe call someone else on the holo-comm. Or maybe just have an adventure in a plain old holo-chamber.

And how you couldn't do that any of that and how confusing it all was anyway. Which was exciting…

"_Bridge to Tucker."_

Aw, you've got to be…

Trip paused the scene, frowning, switching the remote to his other hand and fumbling at his belt for the comm unit there.

"Tucker, go ahead." He scowled.

"_Coming up on Proxima, Captain. ETA twenty minutes. Got a call, though. Colonel Hauser. You might want to get up here double quick."_

That…sounded pretty important.

So. Damn.

Trip killed the holo-recording, thumbing the button the remote with perhaps a little more force than required in his frustration. Stepping quickly to the wall as it appeared, the same scintillating rainbow hue as the one Lynn had been so excited to show him. He plugged the remote back into its receptacle as he passed, moving hastily for the door.

* * *

><p>"…comm is routing the data package to you now." Hauser was saying, his seriousness projecting from the view screen with almost palpable force as Tucker stepped onto the bridge. Lieutenant Shran, Gamma shift command, was taking the brunt of that at the moment. But she stepped aside for him the second she spotted him stepping off the lift.<p>

"Captain Tucker." Hauser said, spotting him as well. "We've got a Vulcan explorer, the _Kolinahr_, drifting out the near the belt. Shran tells me you're ten minutes out and your freighter convoy can take it from here, so I'm afraid you'll have to redirect."

"Understood, sir." Tucker nodded, taking his spot before the captain's chair. "What happened?"

"Romulan pirates." Hauser scowled. "Attacking a Surak class, inside _my _damned system. I've a task force assembling to get out there and beat the bushes but I need you on point to make sure they don't come back and finish the job. OIC there is Captain S'Kon. He reports warp and impulse engines offline, and he lost damned near his entire engineering department. So he's the mother of all sitting ducks at the moment…"

Tucker turned, interrupting the colonel. "Eddie, you got that package?" He asked, facing the Communications officer.

"Got it, Captain." Ensign Crenshaw nodded. "Already unpacked to Helm."

He turned again, while Hauser waited, to the Andorian Lieutenant who technically held the chair at the moment.

"Talla, whatcha got?"

"Nine minutes away at max warp, Captain." Lieutenant Shran reported. "Sensors confirm the _Kolinahr's _status. No other contacts, but if they're Romulan they could just be cloaked. We wouldn't detect them at this range…"

"Alright, let's get us out there. Max warp. And let's keep our eyes open." Trip said. "Ed, holler at the _Dervish_. Let the convoy know they're on their own from here."

Trip turned back to the screen, where Hauser waited impatiently.

"Sir, what the hell are Romulans doing _here_?" He asked, incredulous. "Alpha Centauri's a little out of their way to go raiding."

"Damned if I know, Tucker." Hauser groused. "And I don't like it one damned bit. I want you running full sensors sweeps the whole way in, I don't care if it does scare them off. Job one is keeping those Vulcans from getting their last leg knocked out from under them. If they're still in the area when the _Rodger Young _gets there, they'll find 'em."

"Understood, sir. We're there in…" Trip glanced at the mission display to one side of the screen. "…nine minutes, twenty seconds. We'll report on site then."

"Good enough." Hauser nodded. "And if you run into those bastards, feel free to give the _Tempest _a proper baptism. You've got the _Rodger Young _and two Neptune class escorts heading your way in twenty, so you've got backup. Hauser out."

The view screen went dark.

And the bridge was quiet and tense. Which provided the Gamma shift crew too much time to contemplate the fact that they might just see their first real action since they'd deployed six months ago. So…better give them something else to focus on…

"Alright, you heard him." Tucker said quickly, before anyone could get properly anxious about the situation. "Eckerd, full sweeps, on the run. Roscoe, combat alerts. Light her up."

"_All hands, combat stations. This is not a drill."_

"Talla, I guess I'll take the chair from here, if you don't mind." Trip said. "Get on down to Engineering. And call Benning up here double quick, while you're at it. I want him on Tac."

Trip turned his attention the view screen, where the stars seemed to flash by. Leading them into more or less the kind of situation he'd originally designed the _Tempest _to deal with. Taking the heat off someone else, for hopefully long enough that they could get away.

Except these guys weren't going anywhere. He hadn't been there when the fight broke out and the Vulcan ship was already dead in the water. So nobody would be going anywhere until that Daedalus class and her escorts arrived.

Leaving the shipyard in twenty minutes. Arriving in, maybe, twenty-five.

Which was a long damned time for the _Tempest _to be holding the line all by her lonesome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alpha Centauri  
><strong>**Asteroid 9-Parilla**

T'Pol scanned the room, literally first, with her tricorder…then again with an older and perhaps more reliable medium. Her own eyes.

And so her attention immediately lighted upon the one outstanding object in the room. The small framed imaged on the wall above the desk. Besides the simple cot in the corner and the plain steel desk itself, holding up the personal computer console there, it was the only other thing in the room.

Only five centimeters wide, three high, the image displayed two animals, one in the process of jumping deftly over the other, as it lay on the ground.

The style was…odd. Perhaps some Romulan art form she was unfamiliar with…

Her tricorder was advanced enough that removing the framed image from the wall was unnecessary. She examined the hook it hung from, the solid stone wall immediately behind it and the composition of the frame itself remotely. She found nothing. Beyond a few smudges of dust and organic oils, where the Romulans in the listening post had undoubtedly handled the image in passing, her scans had found nothing that might suggest some hidden messaged encoded in non-visible ink or any chemical medium either. Taking it in hand, a physical inspection of the image revealed nothing further. No note hidden behind the plaque, nothing written out of sight anywhere.

She could find no purpose for the thing to have been hanging there. Other than, perhaps, some form of…art.

"Tulok." She said, turning the image in his direction, offering it for inspection.

Tulok looked up from his treatment of the Romulan, glancing at the image she held up for him.

"Interesting." He said, recognizing _something_.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow in query.

"It is Human." Tulok explained. "The style is 'cartoon', I believe."

"What is its relevance?" T'Pol asked, examining the picture herself again.

"None that I am aware of." He said, returning to treating the unconscious man. "The animals are canine, perhaps different species but of the same genus and family. However, I am only vaguely familiar with Human biological classifications and taxonomic ranks, so my estimation is undoubtedly in error to some degree."

"_Earth _animals?" T'Pol asked, to be certain.

"Indeed." Tulok said, still focused on the Romulan. "Different forms of 'dog', I must assume."

T'Pol considered the picture for a moment more, in case something should leap to her awareness. She could discern nothing. The reddish 'dog' continued to hang in the air above the brownish one. Seemingly amused at it own antics, while the brownish 'dog' responded not at all from where it lay, entirely unconcerned at the proceedings.

So she tucked the small frame into one pocket, dismissing it for now, and turned to the only other obvious source of intelligence. The personal computer console on the desk.

A quick, skillful examination of the entire area with her tricorder revealed no traps or dangers that might be triggered by a physical examination or rough handling. So, as time had become rather limited and Tulok's medical intervention was nearing completion, she simply raised her right foot beside her. Bending her knee to bring it up to her hip, she snatched the layer blade from the sheath in her boot.

And drove the blade into the frame of the screen, where the electronics were housed within the slight bulge in the back. The computer screen sparked and snapped in alarm for a moment, but with a little effort and a hard twist, she chopped loose the bulk of the plastic frame there. A sharp thrust downward cut the entire electronics package loose, destroying quite a lot of it in the process. But it revealed the memory core to plain view.

Holstering her tricorder and taking it in hand, two quick flicks with the tip of the blade popped the small fasteners loose and she had the computer's memory core in hand.

* * *

><p>T'Lea rose from the pilot station to open the airlock, allowing T'Pol and Tulok to struggle through. Their burden causing her to tense when it came into view. She had been well aware that they intended to bring the Romulan prisoner aboard and return him to the <em>Kolinahr<em>, but actually _seeing _the man there…was alarming.

Unconscious though he might be, her instincts insisted he posed a threat. An illogical, irrational response of course, so she suppressed it automatically. But she returned to her station quickly to remove herself from the situation nonetheless.

"The Humans have arrived." She reported, taking her seat again. "The Starfleet vessel, _Tempest_, has taken a defensive position while they await reinforcements."

T'Lea tapped the console, pulling up a tactical overview of the immediate area, as well as a visual look at both the _Tempest _and _Kolinahr_, relative to one another. Commander T'Pol was already approaching, having secured the prisoner, undoubtedly to demand just that.

"What reinforcements do we expect?" T'Pol asked, appearing at her shoulder to examine the screen ahead.

"One Daedalus class explorer and two Neptune class escorts," T'Lea reported. "According to communications intercepted between the _Tempest _and _Kolinahr, _Commander. Captain S'Kon has yet to contact us."

"The Daedalus is a warship," T'Pol said, disapproving. "Whatever the Human insistence to the contrary. And I assume Captain S'Kon prefers not to draw attention to us just yet by communicating openly."

"Perhaps," T'Lea said. "But the Humans have begun evacuating personnel from the _Kolinahr _for transport and Captain S'Kon has complied with that endeavor."

T'Pol reconsidered, discouraged at that turn of events.

"That was not my intention when I recommended seeking assistance from the Humans in the system." T'Pol said. "Bringing a Romulan prisoner aboard a Human vessel poses a unacceptable risk."

Tulok arrived then, busily cleansing his hands with a sterilizing wipe. "If we can manage to draw no unnecessary attention to him, they may well assume he is Vulcan." He suggested.

T'Pol rose from her study of the view screen, contemplating the matter.

Then nodded. "Very well. That may be our only option here. Other than S'Kon, no one else aboard the _Kolinahr _is aware the man is Romulan. And even he cannot be certain, as we have yet to verify that. Our cover will be that the man is Vulcan, a Romulan sympathizer. Perhaps merely a mercenary hired to some end, betrayed and left for dead on the station."

"And if he speaks?" Tulok asked. "Contrary to that assumption?"

"Such a person could be expected to lie concerning themselves and their activities." T'Pol said. "Perhaps even outrageously, in the hopes of delaying return to Vulcan for interrogation and detention."

Tulok nodded. "Very well. From my limited experience with Humans, their emotionality often results in a measure of useful gullibility, if a suggestion should prove intriguing or provocative enough."

The Major's attention focused on the shuttle's view screen then, his eyes narrowing.

"What manner of vessel is that?" He asked. "Starfleet you said, Subaltern? I do not recognize the profile."

"I do not either, Major." T'Lea said. "Nor does the shuttle's sensor silhouette recognition return any result."

T'Pol examined the vessel hanging off the _Kolinahr's _port high. It was relatively small, almost cylindrical, with the rear nacelles mounted above and below the rear section. Closer to the main hull than normal, oddly enough. The forward section lacked the typical saucer shape common to Starfleet vessels, either. Nor was it the spherical shape the Daedalus sported. It was somewhat cylindrical, short and attached laterally to the fore. Perhaps a slightly rearward angle that only suggested the frontal curve that Starfleet's saucer and sphere forward sections normally required. An angle designed to aid in sympathetic warp bubble generation…

"I recognize this vessel now, I believe." Tulok said. "The Hammerhead class. There was only one in production but intelligence suggests it was never completed, in light of Starfleet's push for Daedalus mass production. One of many designs sacrificed to that end."

"What do you know of it?" T'Pol asked.

"Very little." Tulok said. "A frigate, designed specifically as a more militaristic escort for civilian freighters. Prompted, I believe, by the availability of newer phase cannon and photon torpedo systems, and in response to increasing pirate activity. The Humans had yet to identify a singular organization as being responsible for that, at the time."

"Another Daedalus then." T'Pol said, again disapproving.

"If so, then perhaps not an especially threatening one." Tulok denied. "I know that it was projected to pose only moderate to minor threat to the _D'Ykr_ class combat cruiser."

T'Pol considered the ship on the screen.

"If the vessel was never completed or fielded, then how is it here, Major?" She asked.

"I cannot say." Tulok said. "But it is an interesting question, Commander."

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

On the bridge, standing at the central command station, Trip passed a hand over the rainbow surface of the flat console, causing holographic displays and controls to spring into being. A few taps here and there, with security sensors embedded within confirming his biometric identification, and he had all the information he required at hand.

The _Kolinahr's _shield system was fluctuating at about 30% or so, not extended but ready should they come under attack again. The entire sensor system offline, though. Even the external suite on the port side…hell, it wasn't even _there _anymore. A few key junctures in the basic ops grid had been cut, which is why they were having so much trouble evacuating the ship. Grav plating, environmentals…even some of the doors had to be cut through. And all that due to some pretty dismal holes blasted out of the ship all along that side, taking out a few dozen data cable bundles and wireless rigs.

And the warp nacelle ring. That was just hurt to look at. One section punched right through, with a nice, jagged hole to match carved along the impulse engine thruster assembly…the accelerated plasma wasn't even _getting _to the driver coils to generate any kind of subspace field, so they were practically dead in the water. Maybe they could coast around a bit on plain old fashioned plasma thrust, but it'd take them a few hundred years to even get across the system.

According to the Vulcan Captain, S'Kon, the Romulan pirates hadn't even _meant _to do that. Unless they'd had some kind of prodigy manning their tactical station or something, they'd just got insanely lucky with that shot.

Trip ran his fingers through his hair, suppressing the urge to grab a toolkit, run over there and start _fixing _that nightmarish mess. Such a thing just shouldn't exist in the universe.

That was one damned fine ship someone had beat up on. It just wasn't right.

Fact was, though, they'd broken off and warped out. Right when they'd had the _Kolinahr _just exactly where they must have wanted them. Which was about ten kinds of crazy, so something was definitely up here.

Trip glanced around his ready station, at the holographic displays reporting every other station's current activities on the bridge. With Alpha shift called up on duty, Downing was on Engineering but that was limited to coordinating a couple of EVA teams over on the _Kolinahr_. They were there trying to work with the Vulcan systems to get security and medical teams where they needed to be, routing the Vulcan crew the hell off of that ship before…well, whatever the Rommies were up to out here.

Crenshaw was on Comm, juggling messages and comm lines between both ships while updating the incoming _Rodger Young _and her task force. ETA, fifteen minutes on that one, according to the mission display on his console. Science and Tactical were working together, trying their best to scan for cloaked vessels sneaking up on them, especially in a binary star system where they could come at you six ways from Sunday.

Well, at least Rommie hadn't been waiting to jump on them when they got there. Pretty much what he'd been expecting. But fifteen minutes was still a long time. A lot could happen in fifteen minutes…

"Crenshaw, update these estimates on the evacuation." Trip said, not taking his eyes from the console. "Downing, our drive coils are still configured for warp. I'd kinda rather we could move our feet if we gotta dance."

No one bothered to confirm orders, they just went to work. The key displays on the command console flashing quietly soon enough, as real time monitoring of both station's activities updated.

"Captain…"

Lieutenant Eckerd, on Science, so Trip shifted his attention to that part of his station.

A shuttle, Vulcan, one of the _Kolinahr's_, according to the registry. Coming _in_, not out, from 9-Parilla.

"Crenshaw, hail that shuttle." Trip said, frowning.

Now what the hell had _they _been up to out there? In fact, what the hell had the _Kolinahr _been up to here in the first place?

"…and get S'Kon onscreen." He added.

The Science monitor on his console showed Crewshaw juggling seven separate communication now. And, yeah, he really _was _that good.

"Got the shuttle, Captain." Crewshaw reported, a little distracted with all the business he was wrangling. "S'Kon's in Sickbay with the wounded, so it'll take a minute there."

"Alright, get the shuttle onscreen then."

The view screen lit up almost immediately, probably due to Crenshaw just wanting one less thing to juggle right now.

"This is Captain Tucker, commanding the _Tempest_." Trip said, when the Vulcans there came into view. "I see you're coming in from the belt out there. We're evacuating your crew already, so I'll have you fit into the queue for docking in just a minute. Come in and hold a three kay, if you don't mind."

"_Understood." _The pilot said. She was young, a least in appearance. Couldn't ever really tell with Vulcans. _"We are on approach…"_

"_I am Commander T'Pol." _A second one broke in, another woman…pretty damned good looking one, in fact. _"We have a prisoner in custody. Is there room in your brig for one more, Captain?"_

Room for one _more_? What was that supposed to...?

Oh.

Yeah, that was real funny. Damned Vulcans.

"Uh…yeah." Trip said, scowling a bit. "Contrary to what you people seem to think, we manage to keep ourselves in line for the most part. Don't think we've even used the brig yet. We've got room for one in there, though, so you're welcomed to it."

"_Very well." _The Commander said. _"If you would have an escort on hand when we arrive, we will station ourselves there, out of the way of your evacuation efforts."_

"You said you've got a prisoner?" Trip asked. "What'd he do, jump ship or something?"

"_I'm afraid that is classified, Captain."_

Okay…what now?

Trip squinted at the Vulcan on the view screen. "Classified? The _Kolinahr's _an explorer, isn't it? What's classified about that? And…for that matter, you're in Human space, Commander. Alpha Centauri, in fact…"

"_Nevertheless, Captain." _The woman said, interrupting him. _"I cannot discuss it in the open. If you wish I will brief you on the matter, once the prisoner is secured. To the extent that I am able."_

Trip considered that.

"Alright then, Commander." He said. "I'll move you up the queue as much as I can. We've got wounded coming in from your ship, though, so it might still take a while."

"_I understand Human transporter platforms…?"_

"Yeah, well, we don't have that here." He interrupted. If she was going to be interrupting people all over the place, then so would he. "Sorry, have to make do with shuttles. And we've only got two of those."

And the Commander arched an eyebrow at him then, too. Which, if he were ever to admit it, he kinda got a kick out of, whenever he could manage it with Vulcans.

"_It is my understanding that all Starfleet vessels are equipped with matter transporter platforms as a matter of course." _

"That's right." Trip nodded. "But we pulled ours to make room for some other systems. The _Tempest _is a prototype vessel, Commander. So we've got a bit of an odd setup. We've still got a brig and a shuttle bay, though, so if you'll come on in to three kay and line up, we'll get you aboard as quick as we can."

The Vulcan woman on the screen considered that for a moment, turning back to share a look with the third one standing behind her. Then nodded back at him.

"_Very well. Shuttle Two out." _She said, signaling the pilot sharply.

And the view screen went blank.

Trip narrowed his eyes, still gazing at the screen. Contemplating…

"Hm." He said.

Then tapped the console, flipping a portion of the holographic display over until it showed a miniature view screen there. Calling up and scene jumping through the last communication…zooming in on the woman he'd just spoken to. On the collar and the rank insignia there.

Or, at least, where it would have been. Because there wasn't one. And moving the screen capture around a bit, he could see none of the other two Vulcans on the shuttle wore any form of rank insignia either.

He zoomed back out and tapped the picture, inscribing rough circles around the collars of all three Vulcans and tapping again to send the picture to Tactical.

"Benning, take a look at this." He said, and turned to wait on his Tactical officer's assessment.

"_Oh." _Benning said, surprised. It had taken him only a brief glance. "Intelligence, looks like, Captain."

Trip frowned, turning back to his console.

"Crap. That's what I was afraid of."

"Well…" Benning offered. "I doubt there's anything on this ship they don't already know about…"

"No, Benning." Trip sighed. "I'm not worried about Vulcan spies taking scans or anything. Nothing here they don't already know, like you said. They're Intelligence. And they've got a prisoner. And we've got enough damned trouble here already."

Benning thought that over for a second. "Maybe we should bump them to the back of the line, Captain." He grinned.

"Or the _front_." Trip said, grinning back. "Kinda wish I had more than one cell in the brig right now. It'd be nice to just toss 'em all in there until we get to Proxima."

"Could just bump them over to the _Rodger Young_, then. Let Captain West deal with them."

Trip glanced at the mission display on his console. Nine minutes still. So…that was doable, with a little finagling…keeping the shuttle just far down the queue that the task force arrived by the time…

He sighed.

"No." He decided, reluctantly. "Helm, take over the inbound queue. Coordinate with Lieutenant Andrews in Sickbay and get that shuttle as far ahead as he'll let you. We're probably going to be leaving Captain West holding the bag out here, so he'll have enough trouble of his own to contend with."

"I'm on it." Steele answered, from the Helm station.

"Benning." Trip said, turning to give him a hard look. "Have three of your best there to meet that shuttle, though. And I want them right on top of those Vulcans, all the way to the brig. We can't look 'em in a _cell_, but we can still lock 'em in the _brig_. So to speak. Got it?"

"You got it, Captain."

"Sir." Crenshaw said, immediately after. "I've got a priority fleet message, secured. Passing the ball, Captain."

Trip frowned, turning his attention to the little red screen that suddenly popped up to the side. In the way of half the controls there, of course. Figures with all _this_ going on, fleet would suddenly decide to update their comm security protocols. Or tweak some software glitch in security. Or who _knows_ what.

He thumb the flashing circle there, a little impatiently, and keyed in his authorization code. Let the computer security chew on that for a minute while he went over the readout from Science again.

"Hey, I just realized…that subspace message wasn't relayed…" Crewshaw said. "There's a pretty long delay…"

The ready bar flashed, and he returned his attention there to deal with whatever pain-in-the-ass bureaucratic…

_Starfleet Command : All Ships_

_Code 1 : Code 1 : Code 1_

_AE0914 : Sector 006 : Beta Rigel : USS Patton : Reports Romulan Fleet Advance : Unknown Composition : Reports Attack : Contact Lost  
><em>_AE1015 : Sector 006 : Beta Rigel : SS Harmony Hall : Reports Unknown Attack : Contact Lost  
><em>_AE1050 : Sector 006 : Beta Rigel : SS Gypsy Blue : Reports Unknown Attack : Contact Lost  
><em>_AE1108 : Sector 006 : Beta Rigel : All Subspace Contact All Colonies Lost  
><em>_AE1112 : Sector 008 : Subspace Monitors Report Rapid Increase Comm Traffic Romulan  
><em>_AE1114 : Sector 006 : Subspace Monitors Report Rapid Increase Comm Traffic Romulan  
><em>_AE1115 : Sector 008 : Subspace Monitors Report Echo 51 Lost : Echo 55 Lost : Echo 72 Lost  
><em>_AE1120 : Sector 006 : Vulcan High Command Reports Multiple Ships Lost : Multiple Subspace Relays Lost  
><em>_AE1130 : Sector 006 : Vulcan High Command Reports Multiple Terrorist Actions Planetside Vulcan : Assassination Minister Storen : Assassination Minister T'Lon : Assassination Minister V'Sel  
><em>_AE1157 : Sector 006 : Subspace Monitors Report Echo 1 Lost : Echo 2 Lost : Echo 3 Lost_

_Starfleet Command : All Ships_

_Code 1 : Code 1 : Code 1_

_Assume Wartime Stations And Assignments Immediately : Acknowledge Channel 010 Secure_


	4. Chapter 4

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Trip stared at the priority message on the alert screen floating there, more than a little shocked at what he'd just read. He'd skimmed over it at first, until it finally hit about halfway down just what the gist of it was. Then that 'code 1' had finally popped up and smacked him.

There was a lot of information to take in there…all those subspace relays going out at once, right in the middle of things, suggested a lot…and 'terrorist actions' on Vulcan didn't really even need to be specified. It was enough that there was anything that even qualified as 'terrorist action' happening right then. Obviously part of the big picture here…

And everything happening so close together time wise, across two whole sectors…

And there were things to do _here_. Protocols to be followed. He needed Song up here, as his XO, on the bridge instead of over there on the _Kolinahr_…he had to acknowledge that code 1, too…

And that Bird of Prey was probably still out there…in fact, their breaking off from the _Kolinahr _made sense now. They were probably hanging around out there, using the Vulcans to draw someone else into a trap. Or…maybe just to draw Starfleet ships _away _from Proxima…

And…there was…so much…

He just…he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't anywhere near ready for this.

He could…maybe forward this over to Benning. Or call him over to the command console…

But…they didn't need a captain who didn't know what the hell he was doing right now, did they? No, this ship and her crew needed a captain who wasn't standing there staring at his console like an idiot. Someone who knew what the hell he was doing. And was…confident. Had all the answers.

Or maybe even just _thought _he did. _Acted _like he did. Even _that _would be good enough. That sure wasn't him right now, though. 'Cause right now he was confused and in over his head…and, to be honest, just about scared silly…so…

Trip closed his eyes for a moment, leaning on the console with both hands gripping the edge to prop him up. Just a little. Because he had to get his head wrapped around this…

"Captain?" Benning said, from the Tactical station. He'd already picked up on the fact that something big was going on. And that his captain wasn't responding to it as quick as a ship's captain should.

_Okay, Lord. You said you'd have my back at times like this. Told me that a long time ago. And maybe I haven't done much of anything like you probably wanted…but I guess I'm gonna trust you to keep your promise now, okay?_

"Captain, you alright?"

_Because this…I just ain't up for this. I don't think I'm even supposed to be here. So I'm gonna have to give this one to you…_

Trip opened his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath…

"The Lord is my strength and my shield…" He muttered. And he looked over the message again, taking in all the high points at a glance.

And let out the rest of that breath he'd taken in.

_So, okay. We've got two fronts here, one moving through Beta Rigel, which looked like maybe the main fleet there…probably heading right for Vulcan, with all that was happening there paving the way for them…_

"Captain…?"

"Yeah, hold on." Trip mumbled, studying the console. Because there was an increase in Romulan subspace comm traffic in _this _sector, too. And their main comm relays had all been taken out.

_Now, if the Romulans are pushing through on this front, too…then they'd be coming right through here, right? Alpha Centauri…_

_Which is what that guy out there that'd hit the Kolinahr is all about, isn't it? He'd been scouting and probably was supposed to stir things up, draw off two of three ships to the belt out here…_

_So, yeah, he was still out there, waiting for something to kill…_

"Captain." Crenshaw said now, from the Comm station. "I've got a couple more priority…"

"If one's the _Rodger Young_, skip it right now." Trip said, glancing over. "What's the other?"

"Uh…Alpha Centauri Defense Fo-…"

"Put it through here." Trip said, tapping the console to call up a ready station report. "And sound general quarters. Secure every comm you got going over there, code comm. And kill the ones you can't secure."

"Uh…sir?"

"You heard me. Benning?" He said, twisting around a bit to bring the Tactical station in sight.

_General quarters. All hands, action stations. This is not a drill._

"Uh…nothing here, Captain. Sensors still…"

"Right. Go combat, hull and weapons." Trip said. "That Bird of Prey's still out there and the task force is probably about to break off. He'll make his move then, so we need to be ready. In fact…"

He turned to Steel, at the Helm.

"Wayne, the second he pops out you pick a spot somewhere behind him," He said. "Close as you think you can, and you tag it. For now you set a course for Proxima and be ready to get us the hell out of here as soon as you've got that tag. I want us at warp before he fires, if you can. Got it?"

Steel didn't respond right away…so Trip glanced around the bridge.

Everyone was staring at him.

Because they weren't ready for this, either. Still trying to wrap their heads around…

"Alright, focus!" He said, sharply. "We've got a code one here. That's a major offensive, across two whole sectors. And we're sitting Earth-side on one of them. So, the task force is going to break off for Proxima, if Hauser has any sense, and we'll be stuck here with the Vulcans. Now that Romulan ship is still out there waiting for that, so he can jump in here and kick our asses. So get your heads together."

"Crenshaw." He said, turning to the Comm. "I know you've got a lot going on but you need to confirm that priority one from Command. Then go ahead and let _Rodger Young_ know we're good here…"

He glanced at the second priority message on his console, speed reading…

…all ships…defensive…Proxima…Tempest abort…

"Copy to Hauser," He said, turning back. "Let him know we're in the middle of things and can't get free just yet. We'll be along directly. Don't bother forwarding anymore PM's from him for a while. Or anyone else. Just sit on 'em."

Trip turned back to the console, a quick glance at Hauser's priority one confirming he had, in fact, been ordered to abort the recovery of the _Kolinahr_. Since he wasn't going to do that, he tapped the red panel and made it go away. So he could see that ready station report.

Everyone was on station, according to that. Or near enough…

"Okay, Helm, pass your evacuation comms over to Engineering. I need you ready." He said, flipping a few sections of the holographic display over. Bringing up combat prep reports and controls. "Crenshaw, pass your evac stuff to Downing, too. Then I want you on the line with S'Kon quick. We need to know what they're doing about all this. I've got the feeling they don't know what's up yet."

He glanced at the comm. And found Crenshaw hard at work. Focused now, not showing any sign of being overwhelmed just yet.

"Now, if they're supposed to scuttle their ship, Crenshaw, you can't let them do that. We need their guns active, so let them know Rommie's coming back any minute."

Turning back to the command display he could see the _Rodger Young _was already turned around, full warp for Proxima, with her Neptunes hard on her tail.

And here they still had two shuttles on the move. Shuttle One was just debarking to make another pick up with _Kolinahr_, with Shuttle Two not even angling in to dock yet, in order to drop off their load. That Vulcan shuttle with the intel agents was still waiting off to one side as well, and would be for a while according to the queue.

And over there on the _Kolinahr_ they still had an estimated twenty or so wounded to evac. _Then_ the Vulcan shuttle with the agents. Then maybe two _more_ loads of passengers before they got to the Vulcan bridge crew and his own XO...

So, yeah, sure enough…Rommie was gonna hit 'em long before they could get anywhere _near_…

"Whoa. Got 'em! 25,000 kay, port rear!" Benning cried out. "Still cloaked, closing .6 impulse."

Trip smacked the console lightly with one had. Or, the holographic resequenced photon display, whatever. Because it didn't make any kind of satisfying 'thump' when he hit it.

"Hold on that warp, Steel." Trip said, quickly. "Wait until they pop out. Benning…wait 'till they close to ten kay, then you light 'em up. Everything you've got."

"We…can't lock on while they're…"

"Doesn't matter, just throw something at 'em!" Trip snapped. "We've got to get 'em out in the open before we turn tail. Eckerd, you keep backing him up on Science. He'll need your input if he's even gonna get close enough to scare them."

Trip focused on the console, watching the tactical display intently.

21,000 kilometers, angling around to put both the _Tempest _and _Kolinahr _in line of fire. Taking his time…watching to see if he'd been noticed yet…

16,000 kilometers…and yeah, he was making sure to bring those shuttles into his line of fire as well…what a bastard…

10,000 kilometers…

Somewhere behind him Benning stabbed at his console, his eyes wide…

…and three brilliant crimson beams lanced out from the _Tempest_. Clearing a path for a trio of blue flares to follow right behind them…

Out and out…for what seemed like far too long…

"Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle…" Trip said, quietly.

One bright red beam lighting on something. Causing it to waver, betraying the illusion that it wasn't there…

Two of the blue flares impacting, flashing…

And there she was. Trailing smoke now, angry. Not bothering to hide anymore, turning their way…twin globes of green fury spitting out to return the favor...

Trip gestured at Steel, not looking. Eyes still focused on his screen.

"Go!" He said. "Max warp."

The _Tempest _shook as the torpedoe's impacted. Two thumps, in rapid succession, as she spun about quickly and…

…leapt away.

A streak of blue, warping away to flash quietly in the distance.

Gone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Kolinahr<br>_****Surak Class Light Explorer**

"Captain…" The Tactical officer said, hesitantly. "The _Tempest _has gone to warp."

Captain S'Kon turned around quickly, from the polite argument he'd been having with the Human Starfleet Officer. They both stared in shock at the screen.

At the spot where the _Tempest _had been only a moment ago…

"The Romulan frigate is maneuvering…" He continued. "They are locking weapons on us."

"Extend shields." S'Kon snapped, still staring at the screen. "Target the frigate."

Starfleet had _abandoned _them?

"Incoming torpedoes, Captain."

Commander Song staggered forward a bit, coming up beside the Vulcan Captain. Still reeling, her jaw dropped. Staring at the screen…even as it jumped from the utter lack of the _Tempest's _presence to cover the oncoming Romulan Bird of Prey.

As it fired on them.

Because she couldn't believe it. The _Tempest _was gone. Fled.

That just couldn't be…

The ship shook sharply, twice. Close enough together that each jarring shake overlapped and Song nearly fell to her knees, gripping the Communications console beside her absently.

And the view screen suddenly went black.

The Engineering officer reported immediately. "Shields are at 8.1%. Hull breaches forward, decks 3 and 2A. Sensors are offline again. Operations systems offline."

It was quiet for a moment.

"At last view, target vessel's shields were at 6.4%." Tactical reported. "I can no longer confirm, of course."

Then nothing.

Dead silence, all around. Because no one had anything else to report suddenly. Just like that, with that one hit, they were blind. They couldn't even access basic automated systems.

Song glanced around the bridge, at the Vulcans all around her. And they were just standing there. Already perfectly resigned to their fate, before she'd even fully registered the situation herself.

Because it was logical, of course. There was nothing they could do…

"Captain, you've got to evacuate." She said, urgently. "Get the rest of your crew to the emerge-…"

"One moment, Commander Song." S'Kon said calmly. "Tactical officer, activate ship self destruct, on my authority. Authorization…"

"_What?" _Song exclaimed. "Wait a minute! Are you _crazy_? You've still got…!"

"Authorization three, red, four, four. Verify." S'Kon said, turning his attention back to Song. "Excuse me, Commander. We cannot allow the vessel to be taken."

Song stared, shocked all over again. Everything had gone crazy and these Vulcans were just…being so _calm _and…

"Verified, Captain." Tactical reported. "I have authorized self-destruct, prepared to begin countdown."

"Begin countdown, Sub-Commander." S'Kon ordered calmly.

And sat down in the captain's chair. To wait.

Song stared…then started getting angry. So she wheeled on the Communications officer.

"Do you still have comm with the _Tempest_?" She demanded.

The Vulcan just stared at her for a second. As if she were babbling at him.

"We do not." He said, finally. "They ceased communications immediately after their request for support, prior to the Romulan vessel…"

"Then can you contact the shuttles?" Song asked, quickly.

"Of course. With the limited…"

"_Then tell them to get clear!" _She exclaimed.

And she nearly _screamed _when the damned Vulcan arched an eyebrow at her…

"I have already done so, of course." He said, politely. "When Captain S'Kon issued the self-destruct order."

Oh.

Oh, okay. So…that was good, then…

The bridge speakers chimed. And the bridge system offered its opinion.

_Self destruct, ninety seconds. Be advised, operations systems are offline. Emergency pods are inaccessible and non-functional._

And, oh. So that's why they were all just standing around…

Well. That just sucked.

She was just beginning to think maybe she should do something. Shake off the lethargy her shock had suddenly dropped on her. But she just floundered, looking around for something to tell her what to do here. Because she suddenly couldn't figure out _what _to do about the current situation…

The Communications officer tilted his head suddenly, raising a hand to his ear.

"Captain, Commander T'Pol reports…the Starfleet frigate has returned."

Okay, just come on, Song thought. That's just too much. That just made her want to toss her hands in the air and say something profane. _That _at least seemed appropriate here.

"The _Tempest_?" She asked, not even convinced that was the Starfleet frigate he was talking about. Because she wasn't sure anymore _what _the heck was going on.

"Indeed." The officer said. "It is firing on the Romulan vessel, according to her report."

She turned back on Captain S'Kon, expectantly.

Staring, wide-eyed.

_Self-destruct, sixty seconds. Be advised, operations systems are offline. Emergency pods are inaccessible and non-functional. Life support systems now at minimal efficiency._

"Well?" She snapped.

S'Kon considered the matter for a long, introspective moment.

"Hold self-destruct, Sub-Commander." He decided, at last.

"Holding, Captain."

_*bing*_

_Self-destruct countdown paused, on captain's authority. Consult your department heads for updated orders concerning evacuation status_.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

The Tempest dropped out of warp just over 11,000 kay on the Bird of Prey's rear starboard.

Which was perfect. God bless Lieutenant Junior Grade Wayne Steel and every bit of Starfleet flight officer training that made _that _possible.

"Son of bitch, good job, Steele." Trip muttered. "Light 'em up, Tac! All weapons. Get that shield _down_."

The Bird of Prey hadn't shown the first obvious sign they'd even detected them yet. They surely had, probably seeing them coming in at max warp a full two or three seconds ago.

But they were on site and firing before they could even respond. Right on their ass, before their torpedo system could reload from their last shot at the _Kolinahr_. The _Tempest _laying down a trio of phase cannon beams, cutting along their shield envelope, from the rear, half a second after they dropped out of warp. All three hitting, scrapping along and burning the last bit of it away…

"Shields down. Photon torpedoes on the way." Benning reported.

And three bright blue flares arcing out, as the _Tempest _slid fully around to starboard, coming alongside and gliding out another 5,000 kay. Coming around to put the Romulan bridge into the field of fire, keeping themselves out of _their _torpedo range.

The Romulan Bird of Prey hadn't even switched targets yet…

"Their grid just went down!" Eckerd exclaimed, from the Science station.

But Trip kept his eyes on his console. On the view screen there. Watching, because _this _hit would be the one that decided the whole shebang. The torpedoes they launched from behind coming in now, impacting…

Benning didn't wait, though. He had time before they brought the enemy bridge into view, so phase cannons lanced out again. Cutting across the Bird of Prey's port wing, drawing debris, smoke and fire from the damaged ship as they passed.

Three beautiful blue photon torpedoes scattered in their wake, poking three perfect holes in the ship's hull, without the faintest wisp of deflector shielding holding them back…

The enemy ship on the Tucker's tactical readout was flashing amber and red all over the place. Their operations systems disrupted here and there, shields completely offline, a total of eight separate hull breaches…

They were turning now to close in, trying to get in range of their own shorter ranged torpedo system…

And one wing's propulsion system wasn't thrusting at all. The other damaged…

"Change target!" He ordered. "Port propulsion, weapons free."

Crazy, maybe. No one had ever actually taken a Romulan vessel before. But it hardly mattered. Taking out propulsion was usually just as good as hitting the bridge. Because they'd self-destruct anyway.

But…you never know…might get lucky…

His consoles flashed, upper right tactical display. Two incoming Romulan fission missiles. Trip's eyes flittered over the console. Range was 10,000 kay now. Communications was trying hard to lure them off course with some desperate counter measures. Again, usually didn't work, but sometimes you got lucky…

They weren't lucky today. At least not with that.

The _Tempest _shook from the impact. And Trip could _see _the damage as it happened, right in front of him. Hull polarization dropped in efficiency a full 12%. Red flashing hull breach, deck C starboard. Personnel quarters.

_God, how many men had he just lost…?_

Operations efficiency down 22%…

Tactical station's readout flashed green. Target locked on the Bird of Prey's port propulsion system, phase cannons already firing. Three crimson phase cannon beams flashing out, striking hard…range now 8,000 kay and falling fast…

Because their propulsion was powered down, knocked offline from that last hit…

"Hell, yeah, Benning!" Someone called out, Trip couldn't even tell who. But he stayed focused on the console. The target's operations grid was down even more now, showing almost half the energy distribution as when they'd first dropped cloak just a couple of minutes ago.

And their sensor system was losing power rapidly now…dwindling, blinking…offline.

_Son of a bitch…_

Range to target was…just over 10,000 kay. The _Kolinahr _was off well over 20,000. Shuttles were safe where they were…

Maybe. If they'd drawn them off far enough...

His console flashed in alarm. Enemy vessel, warp core energy spike…rising fast…

"Dammit!" Benning said. "I think they're going to pop, Captain!"

Here we go...

"Full impulse, full departure. Hold fire!" Trip ordered.

And waited. Watching.

_Come on, Rommie...drift out a little more before you..._

Pop.

Warp core breach. Initiated themselves, not due to battle damage. At least, not directly.

Range 13,000 kay…

"Crap." Trip scowled. "Better hold on to something."

It took a few seconds for the shockwave and debris field to hit, so they managed to gain another couple thousand kilometers. But it still hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Alpha Centauri**

T'Pol drifted in open space, nearly a thousand kilometers from the _Kolinahr_. The Vulcan shuttle she'd abandoned only a few meters behind her, falling farther behind perhaps a meter more with each passing second.

The damaged Human shuttle was coming up below, so she readied the stabilizer launcher. Driving it firmly into one shoulder to steady it, she aimed between her feet. And waited.

Until the Human shuttle spun past below her and she fired. The short burst of propellant from the tube extending _over _her shoulder cancelled out the reaction…but it shook her harshly nevertheless.

She was relieved when the device sped down and seemingly disappeared, rather than continuing on into space beyond. Because that meant she'd finally hit the shuttle and wouldn't have to try this a _third _time.

"Impact." She said, over the EVA suit's comm.

"On our way, Commander." T'Lea responded, from the shuttle behind her. T'Pol swung one arm around precisely, causing her to spin in that direction. Then back to her chest again to cut the spin awkwardly. Almost, anyway. She continue to spin slowly, not quite as used to EVA maneuvering as some. But she was still able to see the Vulcan shuttle approach and reach out to grab the bar near the airlock when it passed very slowly by.

In moments she was in again, airlock sealed and pressurized. Atmosphere restored, she shucked the EVA helmet as quickly as she could to enter the forward section and gauge their success.

"The shuttle is slowing its spin." Tulok reported, looking over his shoulder at her approach. "I estimate another minute at most before we are able to attach."

"We are already approaching, Commander." T'Lea added.

"Very well." T'Pol nodded. "Dock when you are able, Subaltern. Tulok, prepare for EVA."

With that she lead the Major back to the airlock to don her helmet again and wait for him to suit up as well.

In the end, it took several more minutes than estimated before they could successfully dock. The stabilizer wasn't quite as effective or precise as they'd assumed it would be, having never used that particular piece of rescue equipment before. But it was effective enough that T'Lea was able to achieve a successful seal. After four consecutive attempts at it.

Getting through the airlock turned into another ordeal of sorts, however. The force of the debris when it had struck the shuttle had warped nearly the entire outer hull. Including the airlock frame, naturally. So they were forced to cut through.

There was little concern that this might exacerbate conditions inside the shuttle, though. It had already had a fist-sized hole struck cleanly through by the warp core breach of the Romulan vessel. Despite the incredible odds against such a thing, considering the distances involved and the relatively small distribution of debris at that range.

If there were anyone alive inside, they would have had to be protected in EVA suits themselves already. So any toxic effects of their cutting torches on the contained atmosphere within were irrelevant, as there was no atmosphere there at all.

Pulling herself through the remains of the shuttle's airlock, T'Pol found the grav plating offline as expected. The interior was dark and there didn't seem to be anything still functioning at all. And, unfortunately, when she activated the searchlight in her hand, she was able immediately to confirm that neither of the two Humans seated in the forward section had been able to don helmets in time. Both were very obviously deceased.

It wasn't until then, turning the light toward the rear compartment, that she realized she how unprepared she'd been to actually find any survivors. Despite that being entirely the purpose of the exercise to begin with.

Because there was one. Floating at the rear of the shuttle, beyond the four other corpses still strapped into their seats. A Human, wearing a copper colored, Starfleet issued EVA suit. One hand grasping a bar on the nearby wall, holding themselves somewhat in place where they floated. The other pointing a phase pistol at her.

T'Pol waited, unmoving for a moment. Being careful not to shine the light too directly at the Human. Their visor would undoubtedly protect them from the glare, but the sudden change in view might well serve to startle them. And Humans tended to violent overreaction, as she understood.

After a moment the Human lowered the phase pistol. Enough that it wasn't pointed directly at her anymore. So pushed lightly against the airlock frame, allowing herself to drift across to the opposite wall. There she utilized the same series of bars, hand-holds apparently, to pull herself carefully and easily along to the wall to the Human there.

And, with exceeding care, put her own helmet forward to touch her visor to his.

"I am Commander T'Pol." She said. Loudly, to be sure the sound passed through strongly enough that he could hear it. "Are you injured?"

"Ensign James!" The Human replied, his voice muffled. "My leg is broken!"

T'Pol pulled back enough to look down, noting only a slight oddity in the angle at which his leg lay. But considering the necessarily loose fit of the suit, it was enough to indicate a significant injury there.

She put her helmet back to his. "First aid supplies?" She asked.

After a moment, he holstered the phase pistol and pointed at the opposite wall, near the floor. A box there, mounted low on the wall. Marked with a red symbol.

The auto-splint she'd hoped for was there, once she made her way over to search it. And as Major Tulok had since joined them, she was able to have him hold the Human steady as she applied it. Despite being designed to do nothing more than hold the limb securely in place, over the EVA suit pant leg in this case, it was an exceedingly painful procedure nevertheless.

Enough that the Ensign passed out after only a brief, weak attempt to wrestle free of their seeming assault. Which proved fortunate in a way, as it spared him any further discomfort and made transporting him to their shuttle much easier.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Kolinahr<br>_Surak Class Light Explorer**

Commander Keyla Song was frustrated. She'd spent the last twenty minutes wandering around the ship, yelling at people and sticking her nose in the middle of things. There was a lot going on at the moment, all over the ship, but she wasn't engineering and wasn't medical. She was a science officer. She could maybe plug something in, or unplug it…provide basic first aid, perhaps…maybe even with some of the Vulcans…

But, really, there just wasn't anything for her to do but get in the way. Something _had _occurred to her where her expertise _might _prove useful. And she was on her way back up to the bridge to see about that. But along the way she figured she'd be Executive Officer for one more stop and try to light a fight under Shran's butt.

She made her way quickly down the corridor, approaching Engineering. Grasping the temporary support beam in the open doorway, she swung herself in to examine the mess in there.

And it still _was _a mess. Maybe there wasn't anything on fire anymore but just about everything that could be twisted, bent or melted had been. All three, typically. But at least the bodies had been removed since last time she'd checked in here.

The engineering team from the _Tempest _were all over everything, hard at work. All two of them, as that represented the entire engineering staff qualified to work with Vulcan propulsion systems. But since those two were Shran and Claiborne, there were indeed all over everything. They were the best, hand picked for their expertise by the captain himself.

In fact…they almost had the place squared away in there already, it looked like. Messy, sure, but…things were blinking in here. And there was some stuff going on at the consoles now, where they'd been dead before. So…it _looked _like it was…working…

"Commander, what do you need?" Shran asked, her antennae plucking forward when she spied the Executive Officer staring around the place.

"How's it going in here?" Song asked. "Are you done yet?"

Shran stopped welding and pulled her goggles down to her neck. Frowning at Song, where she stood in the doorway interrupting her work.

"The ionic conversion coils _exploded_, Commander." She said. "All of them. At the same time."

Song just spread her hands at her sides and frowned right back. _Yeah, so?_

Shran stared.

"No. We're not done yet."

"Well, hurry the hell up." Song snapped. "_Tempest _isn't back and I want to know why. They could be in _trouble _out there, Lieutenant."

Shran's frown deepened. "Then I suppose I should stop slacking off and get to work or something, Commander…"

"Just get it done, Talla!" Song snapped again. And she turned and stalked out the door again. Having accomplished nothing here but to irritate the Andorian engineer.

"I guess she's in no mood for her usual playful banter." Shran muttered, turning her attention back to her work. Welding the woefully inadequate Starfleet issue ionic conversion coil in place of the old one. On the assembly mount replacement she'd had to _grind _to fit in the first place…

"She's just worried." Claiborne said.

Shran stopped welding and looked over. "What?"

"Worried." Claiborne said again. "She's just worried, that's all."

Shran pulled her goggles down again, to stare at him for a moment.

"Jack, why do you think I care?" She asked, almost sincerely.

Clairborne's brow furrowed at that.

"Well, jeez, Talla." He said, turning from his own work on the console system to frown up at her.

"You know, she's XO. You've got to get _along _with her…"

"No, I don't." She said. "I don't have to get along with anybody. I have to do my job, do it well and eventually retire. _That's_ what I have to do."

"Well, I mean you don't have to _like _her…"

"Good. Because I don't."

Claiborne tossed up his hands, frustrated.

"God, don't you like _anybody, _Talla?" He asked.

Shran pulled her goggles back up, preparing again to weld.

"I like _you_, Jack." She said.

Claiborne blinked at her in surprise.

"You…do? Really?"

"Sure." She said, "When you shut up and let me work. Instead of talking to me about things."

She struck the seam again, throwing sparks as she sealed the woefully inadequate conversion coil assembly into place.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<strong>  
><strong>Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)<strong>

Trip woke to a Rigelian medic leaning over him, scanning him for injuries. Not something he was accustomed to waking up to.

"_Ah!" _He said, jerking back and reaching out quickly to grab at the…person. _"What the…?"_

"Don't move, Captain." The medic said, still scanning. "I'm still assessing you for injury."

Trip stared wide-eyed, not taking that in at all. He hadn't the first clue where he was or what was going on here. And this alien was waving a scanner at him…some part of him insisted that, yeah, everything was fine, just relax…probably should let go of the guy and let him do his job…but he couldn't remember _why _a Rigelian leaning over him like that, while he was splayed out on the floor, was supposed to be fine…

A light overhead blinked, and that drew his confused search for answers to the ceiling overhead. Emergency lighting…type E-2 bridge support beam…

Oh. So he was on the bridge…of the _Tempest_…

_Crap!_

Instead of letting go of the medic, he turned the clumsy grasp of the man's uniform into a push.

"Lemme up." Trip slurred, groaning. "Gimme up."

The medic backed off then. But he didn't help him up, so that left him to turn painfully over, ending up on his hands and knees. Which he really wasn't comfortable with, what with that guy still scanning him from behind like that…

Wait…that was Crewman 'Korim' or something, wasn't it? Couldn't remember _what _that guy's name was supposed to be, but…

Trip found the console next to him, so he used that to steady himself a bit and get to his knees for a look around. _Then_ the medic decided to help him keep from falling over all of a sudden. So he figured maybe he was done scanning him to death.

The bridge didn't look all that bad. There was a wire knocked loose somewhere, since the lights flickered a couple more times. Probably at that second juncture, near the data couplings in the ready room port access. Came loose twice already when they got the shakes at high warp…but that was it.

Oh, right. The crew looked a little beat up, too. Didn't see Downing, but no one was badly injured that he could see.

Of course _he'd _be the only one knocked out here. Sheesh.

"Benning." He croaked, seeing him hard at work at his own station. "Where's Downing?"

"Sickbay." Benning said, sparing a quick glance his way. "He hit his head, but he's fine."

"The ship?" Trip asked, pulling himself unsteadily up to his feet again.

"Probably better sit back down, Captain." Benning said, regretfully. Grimacing.

_Oh, God…_

Trip leaned back against the console, sparing the Rigelian medic a nod and pat on the shoulder as he passed by, since he didn't want to croak at the poor guy…as he headed off to find someone else to scare the bejesus out of. Then, when he figured he'd steeled himself enough, he staggered around to wave a hand over his own console, bringing it back online again.

It was practically a sea of red and amber springing up to greet him. And his knees damned near _did _buckle again at the sight.

Sensors were offline and they were running blind. In fact, they weren't even running, since propulsion was out, too. Plasma conduit collapsed off deck C, that whole section locked down. In fact, _everything _was effectively locked down, what with ship-wide operations completely offline…

Trip reached down to tap the comm at his belt. Then again, trying for an open channel. Nada. So even comms were down.

Then his console flickered and stalled…trying desperately to reconnect with the computer core for a second…finally finding another route and coming back online again…

Weapons were out, except for one phase cannon that was locked up. Something jamming the port forward torpedo hatch open. And calling up an engineering status report there Trip confirmed his fears in that regard. A photon torpedo lodged in there. Active, which was probably causing all manner of anxiety for the two engineers working _that _little problem…

Trip took a deep breath…and let it out again…

"Well…we've got shields." He said.

Benning chuckled behind him. "Barely. 12%, last check. Life support took a big hit but it's mostly electrical. I've got two teams on that, the third kinda spread around until they get free. Right now the bridge is one of only two compartments with full atmo. Everyone else is on emergency backups."

Trip stared at the command console. Until it flickered again and lost connection, so he couldn't really justify staring at it anymore, putting off asking…

"Casualties?" He asked.

"Twelve." Benning said, reluctantly. "Most from the Deck C starboard hit. Not a lot of injuries, though. Doc's cleared most of them for duty already."

Trip passed a hand over his eyes, overwhelmed.

Twelve. _Tempest _was a frigate. That was almost exactly _a quarter _of his entire crew complement…

"Jesus, Benning…"

"Rommie did that, not you." Benning insisted suddenly. "Not me or anyone else up here, either."

Trip got the point quick enough. Benning was the experienced officer here, so of course he knew what he was talking about…

And, yeah. He got it. Straighten up, don't start whining. Crew doesn't need to see that. What he needed to do was…be pissed off at the Romulans. So the crew'd know that's who _they _needed to be pissed off at. 'Cause if he went around all teary eyed they'd be pissed at _him _instead…because he'd be telling them it was _their captain's _fault…

Trip took another breath, digging down deep and finding some strength left somewhere in there. Squared his shoulders a little and wiped the…misery…off his face.

Tried to look like he was captain or something.

"Okay." He said. "We've still got crew back at the _Kolinahr_. And the Vulcans are in who knows what kind of shape now. So we need to get back there, and for that we need sensors and propulsion…"

Trip put on his engineering cap for a minute, looking over the still flashing sea of red and amber on his console. Communications was down, too. Which they also needed. And ops would be nice if they were going to get _anything _done…

_Jeez, where to even start?_

"Okay...you've got the chair, Benning." He said, pushing off from the command console. "I guess I'll grab a toolkit and get to work."

He staggered off balance a bit about halfway to the lift, though. So he kinda had to pretend no one noticed that or they might try to make him sit down or something…especially since the lift was out and he'd have to shimmy down the ladder in there.

Because, the fact was…his little engineering crew was pretty good. The best he could wheedle out of Starfleet at the time. But they didn't know how to jury-rig worth a damn and they needed to get the _Tempest _moving again, right now.

* * *

><p><strong>Alpha Centauri<strong>  
><strong><em>Kolinahr<em> Shuttle Two**

The comm crackled slightly but got the short hail through clearly enough.

"_Kolinahr to Shuttle Two."_

T'Lea glanced back at the rear compartment, where Tulok and T'Pol were checking over the two unconscious men back there. T'Pol spared a glance and a nod in her direction, so she tapped the communications console quickly.

"_Kolinahr,_ Shuttle Two."

"_What is the status of your sensor systems, Shuttle Two?"_

T'Lea considered the oddity of that request for only a short moment, then tapped the systems monitor display, reading over the report casually.

"They appear to be functioning normally, _Kolinahr_."

"_Very well. Stand by, Shuttle Two."_

T'Lea waited patiently. Standing by as ordered.

"_Shuttle Two, this is Commander Song. Can you pick up the Tempest from where you are?"_

T'Lea leaned forward again, dialing the passive sensor display out as far as it would go. The _Tempest _was there, not moving.

"Indeed, Commander." T'Lea acknowledge. "They are out approximately 33,000 kilometers from our position."

"_Can you get any kind of status from there?"_

T'Lea rechecked the display, cycling through a few different sensor overlays.

"I cannot, Commander. However, radiometric readings suggest they still have power. I would also interpret these readings to indicate they may have suffered some structural damage."

"_What about plasma discharge? Venting?"_

"None that I am able to detect, Commander."

"_Okay, so their propulsion's down. Trip's probably in Engineering right now…right, so we're going to open up a data path with your shuttle. I need to you close out any operations systems you don't absolutely need. Let me know what kind of processing speed and memory you've got then."_

T'Lea went to work, assessing the necessity of every program and operating system she had the clearance to access. Making room for whatever the _Kolinahr _intended. Which…

"May I ask you intentions, Commander?"

"_We're going to patch into your visual suite. Run it through our sensor processing. If we can get that to work I'll need you out about 10,000 kilometers from the Kolinahr. You'll be making random sensor sweeps and running a full orbit around the ship at that range. That might be the best we can do for an early warning system until we get sensors back online over here."_

"I understand, Commander. I have freed approximately 47% of the shuttle's processing capacity. Local memory, however, may not meet your requirements."

"_Well, you've got computer techs over here somewhere, I imagine. I'll go find one and drag him up to the bridge…"_

"_Break, break. Kolinahr, Tempest."_

"_Holy…! Kolinahr, Commander Song! Go ahead, Tempest!"_

"_Hold for Captain Tucker, Commander."_

"_When did you guys get comm back up, Crenshaw? We've been talking to you for over an hour now!"_

"_Yeah, just got it. It was little ways down the list until we picked you up just now. Then the Captain started yelling about getting the subspace antennae back onl-…okay, hold on…"_

"_Song, Tucker. What's that you're doing with the shuttle?"_

"_Uh…just trying to set up some kind of remote sensor package, Captain, using the shuttle's suite for…"_

"_Yeah, break. That's a good idea. Get 'em out 10,000 kay and have 'em sit tight. We're blind over here but we'll have impulse in about twenty minutes. Patch your sensor system through the shuttle for a visual when we get in range. But for now Tempest and the Kolinahr are going to broadcast steady. Let the shuttle triangulate, run it back to us and we'll use that for navigation."_

"_Uh…roger that, Tempest. That's…not going to be very accurate, Captain."_

"_Well, we just need to not bump into each other. Doesn't need to be all that accurate. Set it up and get it ready. Be there in thirty. Tempest out." _

"_Wait one, Tempest!"_

"…_go ahead, Kolinahr."_

"_We need to coordinate our efforts here, Captain. Right now we're focused on engineering…"_

"_Break. We're not code comm here, Song. Drop the shuttle."_

T'Lea nearly startled when Commander T'Pol spoke at her shoulder. Apparently having stepped over to see what all the chatter was about_._

"This is Commander T'Pol, Shuttle Two." She said. "I would prefer to be included in that discussion."

"_Shuttle, Tempest. Any reason you think you need to be included here? On an open channel?"_

"We have wounded here." T'Pol said. "Our prisoner remains stable but we've picked up a Human ensign as well. One of your shuttles was impacted by debris from the Romulan vessel's warp core detonation. I'm afraid there were no other survivors. However, it has become all the more imperative that we return to the _Kolinahr_, if they expect to have propulsion back online..."

"_Break. Shuttle Two, code comm. Coalition secure channel…one four."_

T'Pol nodded to T'Lea, at the pilot station. Waiting until the console indicated a secured transmission.

"We are secure, _Tempest_. Go ahead."

"_Alright, Shuttle Two, if you feel like you just have to be in on things, then fine. We have the critical wounded here on the Tempest. And they're dying in the damned corridors because we don't have the medical staff for this sort of thing. We need to get them back to Proxima as quick as we can."_

T'Pol considered that.

Because that didn't make sense.

"If that is the case," T'Pol said. "Then you do not require remote navigation to return to the _Kolinahr_. You should return to Proxima as soon…"

"_Break, Shuttle Two. We're coming back there to drop off the rest of the engineering crew before we warp back to Proxima with the wounded. We'll be leaving you out there in bad enough shape as it is. But we'll be picking your team up when we get there, if that's what you're worried about."_

"That will not be necessary, Captain." T'Pol said, quickly. "The _Kolinahr _remains accessible. We will transfer our prisoner and the wounded ensign there immediately."

"_Negative on that, Commander. We'll be picking you up. Head on out to 10,000 kay, as ordered. Get ready to spot us when we come in."_

"It would be logical to secure our passengers on the _Kolinahr _prior to…"

"_Break, Shuttle Two. I guess I'm not making myself clear. Or maybe you don't understand the situation here. We're code one right now, you understand? Starfleet in this system has fallen back to cover Proxima. And we've got Romulan forces pushing in on sectors 008 and 006. Were you aware of any of that?"_

"No, I…was not aware." T'Pol said.

"_What I thought. So we'll be coming in to pick up that prisoner of yours, Commander. Because I'm pretty sure Starfleet'll will want to talk to you. And I'm sure they'll want to talk to this prisoner your intelligence team just happened to apprehend in Alpha Centauri, a few hours before the Romulans decided to invade."_

T'Pol stared at the comm. Then glanced back to meet Tulok's concerned look, where he stood over the Romulan prisoner there.

"_You copy that, Shuttle Two?"_

"I understand, _Tempest_." T'Pol said, carefully. "Although, I believe you are overreacting. Our prisoner is unlikely to have any information regarding a Romulan invasion."

"_You sure about that, Commander? Because now would be a good time to offer anything you might know about all this."_

"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer, Captain."

"_Alright, then. I hope for your sake that's true. Get yourself ready. We'll be there in about twenty-five. Tempest out."_

T'Pol pondered furiously. The situation had escalated suddenly. Far beyond what any reasonable projection might have predicted. The Romulans were invading? In such force as to threaten two entire sectors? Certainly the recent activity her team and others like it had been privy to recently had suggested _something _major in the works…but an actual _invasion_…?

"Commander." Tulok said, coming alongside. "Considering the current situation, we cannot allow the prisoner to be taken into Starfleet custody."

T'Pol looked back at the Romulan in the rear compartment, unconscious but still fastened securely in his seat.

"That may no longer be of such concern." She said.

"Commander?"

"If the Romulans are indeed conducting a full scale invasion of both sectors…" She explained. "An actual _war _with Coalition forces here…continuing to conceal the nature of our relationship with the Romulan people may no longer be possible."

Tulok considered that.

"Nevertheless, Commander." He said, at last. "Our orders are very clear on that point. And quite specific."

"Yes, they are." T'Pol said, still deep in thought. Considering something…

She turned to face Tulok squarely. "Major, the prisoner continues to represent a significant opportunity for intelligence. But it must be gathered now, if the Humans intend to take him into custody before we are otherwise able to interrogate him."

Tulok arched an eyebrow at his commander.

"He remains unconscious, Commander." Tulok pointed out. "And while we could rouse him for a time, he would be in no condition to respond lucidly to interrogation, assuming we were successful in the endeavor."

T'Pol returned her attention to the prisoner. Still considering.

"There is are other methods available to us, Major." She said, hesitantly. "Methods that would benefit from his current state of unconsciousness."

And Major Tulok's eyes widened slightly, as he realized what exactly she implied.


	6. Chapter 6

**Alpha Centauri Defense Command  
><strong>**Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit**

Colonel Hauser was barking before he cleared the door to the situation room. There were several officers, varying in rank, moving busily around the room. But only one was the Sitrep Officer, whose job it was to hit him with all the relevant data the second he asked for it...

"Simmons, report!"

Across the room, on the far side of the broad tactical display table, Major Simmons was ready. PADD in hand, tactical situation laid out and clearly designated, all current reports ready for review. In the PADD, on the table and in his head.

"Long range sensors are clear but we've picked up a few sporadic warp signatures on the periphery…" He said, tapping the display controls. "Here, Colonel."

Stepping up to the table, Hauser could see half a dozen red circles light up, blinking and tightly grouped. About halfway between the Teenebia and Porrima star systems…

That was out in the middle of _nowhere_, just over twelve light years out. So…

"That's our diversionary fleet, then." Hauser said, glaring down at the display map. "They know our sensor range?"

"Apparently, sir." Simmons said, seriously. "I'd say we picked them up as they came to a stop just beyond our ability to detect them. We probably hit the one or two that overshot the mark before they could come full stop."

That could be any _number _of enemy ships out there, then…

"How did we even pick them up? Why aren't they running under cloak?"

"No idea, sir. At least the ones we detected weren't. But they could be moving forward _now _under cloak, for all we know. We just don't have eyes out there."

Hauser ignored that for now. There were still those two ships on the local system display, sitting out near the belt…

…and was this action report right? The _Tempest_ had warped in at close range to the Bird of Prey and damned near taken it out before it could even shoot back. _Then _led it away from the _Kolinahr _and cut it to pieces single-handedly, at a safe enough distance that their warp core breach hadn't even _touched _the Vulcan ship.

"What's the status on those two?" He asked, pointing. "Why aren't we getting sensor telemetry from them?"

"The _Tempest _just got their comms back up but they're both still drifting. Propulsion and sensors offline in each case. Her comm officer reports engineering staff working _both _vessels, trying to get propulsion up enough to fall back."

"Alright, fleet status." Hauser ordered, putting that aside for now as well.

"The _Enterprise _is inbound, ETA thirteen hours, sir. But they're ordered on to Vulcan and we're to resupply in transit. Fuel, stores and armaments…"

"Vulcan? That's three weeks from here, even at warp seven. I hardly expected we'd get Starfleet's flagship but I was looking for _some _kind of backup."

"Sorry, sir. Don't know what to say. Command ordered them to Vulcan. They've got every ship in the sector rerouting to Vulcan and Epsilon Sculptoris…"

"Every ship in _our _sector?"

"Yes, sir. Intel says Rommie means to draw the line at Vulcan. Except for _Discovery _and what we have in system already, everyone else is heading there. Or Epsilon Sculptoris to try to hold them off. _Discovery's _ETA here is 36 hours, inbound here from Teneebia. The _Avenger's _outbound from Theta Sculptoris at last report, two hours ago. Subspace relays are still out all across our sector. But they're heading for 59 and 61 Virginis, then out through Borka, scouting for that second fleet."

"You sent them the sensors hits we got here?" Hauser asked.

"Yes, sir." Simmons nodded. "They should have it before they get out too far. I took the liberty of requesting they divert here. Can't say it will matter though, sir. They're a warp six vessel. They've never made it back to get their upgrades and they're a long way out. Maybe…a month at max warp. And I doubt they can manage max warp for a whole month."

Colonel Hauser smacked one hand down on the display before him then, leaning over it.

"_Rodger Young_, two Neptunes and an NX that won't be here for three days." Hauser seethed. "_Enterprise _is just passing right through and _Avenger _won't be here 'til it's all over. I don't even want to count Tucker's damned frigate and the Vulcan explorer, because that'd just jinx us."

Hauser studied the tactical display of the system. Glaring at it.

"Romulans are maxed at warp four, according to intel." He grumbled. Considering, thinking out loud. "So we're looking at nearly three weeks before this diversionary force can get here from where they are."

He gestured widely at the two proximal systems on the map.

"Command's drawing the line at Epsilon Sculptoris and reinforcing Vulcan," He said. "So we _might _get some backup before they hit us, once everyone's bunkered up and things settle down a little. Of course, that depends on how large an enemy fleet we're looking at _here_…and we need eyes out there to determine that."

Hauser considered the situation critically for a moment longer, then straightened up from the tactical display.

"Alright, notify all UES vessels in system. We're code one here, so they're under Starfleet command now, same as us. All out-system transports are cancelled. Get Major Donaldson busy whipping them into shape. What's the status on Coleman?"

"Rear Admiral Coleman's inbound on the _SS Elegant_. Commandeered a civilian freighter, sir. ETA 28 hours."

"So we've got 28 hours to get our heads unscrewed from our asses." Hauser said. "I want _Rodger Young _to remain here, on defense. Have our Neptunes running escort for the civilians, get them the hell out of here as quick as we can. Before Coleman gets here, if at all possible. And contact Tucker, encourage him to double time it. We need him back here in dock. If he can take on a Bird of Prey all by himself, then we can use him. Re-task the _Tempest _for defense when he gets here and attach him to the _Rodger Young_."

"Understood, sir." Simmons said, hesitating. "Uh…what about the _Kolinahr_?"

Hauser grimaced. "Tucker was supposed to _abort _that recovery. But since he got himself knocked out of commission, he might as well finish the job while he's there. Have him get both vessels _moving _and back here soonest. Before someone else shoots at them. We'll knock out the dents when they get _back _here."

"Yes, sir."

"And stress some urgency in that regard, Major." Hauser said, intently. "I doubt those sensors hits out on the periphery were unintentional."

"Sir?"

Hauser frowned. "If I were Rommie, I'd have one ship out there, dancing back and forth so you could pick him a few times. While the rest of my little fleet was somewhere between here and there under cloak, hauling ass for our system."

Major Simmons considered the implications of _that_.

"Yes, sir." He said, frowning as well now. "If it's an actual _diversionary _fleet, then hitting Alpha Centauri with about a dozen ships…"

"Starfleet would have to draw off from Vulcan to cover Earth." Hauser finished. "Split Coalition forces in half, leave the Vulcan and Andorian fleets to line up on _that _front with little or no Starfleet support. Because _that's _where the main fleet is headed."

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<strong>  
><strong>Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)<strong>

Down in Engineering, Trip yanked the fourth module in the line free from the manifold and tossed it carelessly behind him. Its replacement already at hand, held out by a very helpful Crewman who'd been conscripted into the fight.

Trip snatched it up, turned it around and slammed it into place. Giving it a good, hard twist, securing it firmly before stepping down the line.

Six more to go. Then he'd be done here, at least. They'd managed to limp back over to the _Kolinahr_, guided by nothing more than simple open comm transmission and some basic triangulation. But it'd blown out every equalizer module on this side of the manifold.

And they'd drifted forward for a while before they could reverse thrust. Which brought them within 1,000 kay of the _Kolinahr_. Steele had nearly had a conniption. Not that there was a chance in hell they would have actually _hit _the other ship…but in his mind they might as well have. That was, literally, point blank range according to the ops manual and flight officers were just plain touchy about that sort of thing.

The decoupler lifted from his tool belt and angling along the seam, just so, Trip began the long process of working the next burned out, warped and nearly melted equalizer module free…

"Wait…" The _other _Crewman said, moving along with him _behind _the one hauling the modules. "…um…what was the reading I'm supposed to be looking for on this thing, Captain?"

Trip glanced over, seeing the confused look on the Crewman's face. Peering intently and shaking the engineering scanner a little. As if the answer might come loose and fall out on the floor.

God, he _really _was going to have to cross-train some of these people…or just swap them out for more engineers when they got to Proxima…

These two were security, for crying out loud.

"Anything between .0078 and 1.45 is good, Crewman." Trip said, patiently. "Anything else…not good."

"Oh, okay." The Crewman said, confidently. "Got it, Captain."

"You sure?" Trip grunted, working the next module loose. "Because we've only got two more equalizer modules to spare. Probably want to get home sometime before the next century…"

"No, no! I got it. Just…wasn't sure if it was 087 or 078, Captain."

Trip stopped, turning to give a stern look. "Point oh-_oh_-seven-eight, Crewman."

"Right…that's what I meant." He said. "Got it, sir."

Trip eased up a bit then.

"Do I need to write it down for you, Gibson?" He grinned.

"Uh…no, sir. I got it." The Crewman said, smiling back. Hesitantly, and with all afforded respect.

"Alright." He nodded. "Just make sure they're…"

"_Alpha Team to the Captain."_

Trip reached down with one hand to tap the comm at his belt. Keeping the other braced firmly on the decoupler. He didn't want to lose what little headway he'd made there so far.

"Tucker, go ahead." He said, already grunting as he _pushed_…

"_Sir, we've got a problem in the top nacelle. We're two spools short of the hydrogen lines we need up here. We're not going to be able to…"_

"Wait a minute." Trip said, pulling the decoupler free entirely and straightening up. "Hold on, you're still replacing hydro lines up there?"

"_Uh…yes, sir."_

"Alpha, you've been at it for two hours now. What's taking so long?"

"_Uh…sir, there's a total of forty-two lines on this…"_

"Wait…are you replacing _all _of them? Why are you replacing all of them? Only half of them ruptured."

"_Sir…they're…standard operating procedures for hydrogen line replace-"_

"Just replace the ones that _need replacing_, Alpha!" Trip exclaimed. "Why do you think you're running out of hydro line?"

For the love of…

"_Uh…you don't want us to replace the rest of them?"_

"No, Alpha." Trip said, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead now. "Go ahead and replace any _ruptured _lines you _haven't _replaced yet. _Just those. _You have enough hydro line for _that_?"

"_No, sir. And we can't use the ones we've pulled…"_

"Right, because the seals are broken now, Alpha." Trip frowned. "We still have plenty of deuterium line, don't we?"

"_Uh…deuterium…? Yes, sir."_

"Okay, there you go. Get to it."

Trip raised the decoupler to get back to work, shaking his head…sheesh...

"_Captain…you want us to use deuterium line?"_

Trip stopped.

You know…at least the two security guys here had an excuse. They weren't highly trained Starfleet engineers…that one in the back there had never even touched an engineering scanner before. And _he _was managing well enough…

Trip gave up. Sighing, he slipped the decoupler back onto his belt and put his hands on his hips.

"Alpha Team, get some deuterium line." He explained. "Don't cut it to fit, just wrap up the excess near the intake port and secure it with duct tape. About two feet from the intake, so you can tuck the whole line under the thermal sheath with the power conduits…"

"_Wait, sir…the thermal sheath?"_

You have _got_ to be kidding me...

"Alright, that's it." Trip said, tapping the comm at his side again, opening the channel. _All the way_ open.

"All engineering teams, listen up! That means you, too, Talla. So don't act like you can't read me over there."

An irritated voice sounded off immediately.

"_I'm not deaf."_

"Good!" Trip snapped right back. "Now, look! Every one of you graduated from the academy. So you're not stupid. You're smart enough to figure out how to replace a hydro line with deuterium line. Or use warp plasma filters and type four sealant to patch holes in an EPS conduit. We're not preparing for inspection here. _Forget your academy training! _All we have to do is move a measly ten light-minutes across the system. It doesn't matter if anything catches on fire or explodes in the process, as long as we get there in one piece. Let the engineers at Celestial station polish the damned hull."

Trip waited just a second. Because they were all probably having a little trouble wrapping their heads around these strange, new concepts he was laying on them.

"Now, get to work and get it done." He said. "The next person who calls me without having accidentally initiated a warp core breach, I'm tossing head first out the nearest airlock."

And…since some crazy bureaucrat had decided to go ahead and promote him to _captain_…

"And I'm moving all deadlines up one hour." He added. "Since some of you seem to think we've got time to fiddle around here. And when those deadlines come around I don't expect to be impressed. I expect the damned ship to start pushing light for Proxima. _Captain, out_."

So there. That oughta do it.

* * *

><p>T'Pol floated aimlessly, unconcerned with enforcing her will upon her surroundings. She let the mild currents and eddies take her where they wished, refraining from drawing attention to herself by attempting to gain control…until she was at peace with existence…having no concerns at all…<p>

…then she reached out casually, calmly. Seeking and finding the other there, coaxing him gently up. Taking her time, forcing nothing. Up and up, easily. Closer to the surface…

Until he was there, across the featureless expanse.

A young man, healthier and more vibrant than he currently was in reality. Staring across the expanse, seeing and sensing nothing just yet. Almost, but not quite, aware of his own existence.

Sensing her, after a time had passed. Turning to gaze at her, still not entirely lucid.

"Hello." He said vaguely, somewhat confused. Not quite aware enough yet to try to wrest some understanding concerning her sudden presence in his mind.

"Hello." T'Pol said, calmly. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm…D'Val." He said, after a moment's contemplation.

"Hello, D'Val." She said. "Where are we now?"

D'Val looked around then slowly, gazing out at the vast whiteness.

"I…I don't know…" He said, faintly.

"Do you not remember, D'Val? Are you dreaming?" She asked. "Have you fallen asleep?"

D'Val brow furrowed. "I don't know…in bed. Or…at my station…maybe."

"Show me where you are sleeping, D'Val."

And the infinite emptiness…shifted…flashing faintly. A series of imperceptible impressions cycling around and around…

A small bunk, mounted to the wall. And another just beyond it, on the same wall. The wall itself, becoming two. Four, ceiling and floor. A series of simple, upright lockers. A grey, stone room, perfectly square, and a hatch the only exit.

D'Val stared at the lower bunk, closest to the hatch. Where the other D'Val lay. The sleeping one. And his eyes flickered around the room.

"I don't…I don't know where everyone is." He said. "Maybe…I overslept…and no one woke me…"

"This is an interesting place, D'Val." T'Pol said, looking around. With interest. "Show me this place, where you work."

"Oh…alright." D'Val said, perking up a bit but still…unfocused.

And D'Val turned around. But he didn't take a step forward. Instead, the scene shifted again…and they were standing in the corridor.

D'Val stared at the floor there, quickly becoming agitated.

"I remember…no, I remember…something…" He said, his voice tensing. One hand rising up slightly, whether to point or to ward something off…

"It is alright, D'Val." T'Pol said, calmly. "I am here with you."

He looked over, questioning. "Who…who are you? I think I forgot…"

"I am a friend. I am here to help you."

D'Val immediately tensed, his head drawing back. Denying.

"I don't have any friends. I don't…no one…"

"Why do you have no friends, D'Val?"

D'Val paused…trying to make sense of the question. "I…I don't want to talk about that."

"I understand." T'Pol said. "You were going to show me where you work. I would find that very interesting, D'Val."

"Oh. Alright…but…Talen killed me." He said, vaguely. Staring again at the floor of the corridor. "I don't know why he killed me…"

"You are alive, D'Val. Because I am taking care of you. I am a friend and I will keep you safe."

D'Val mumbled something. It was incoherent and his attention remained fixated on the floor...

His eyes wide, staring…losing focus, eyelids drooping…

She was losing him.

So she reached out and grasped his arm. Carefully, loosely at first. Then firmly, staring at him. Enforcing her will, drawing him forward…

Until he blinked suddenly and turned to stare at her.

"Wait…no…wait, who are you?" He said, his eyes coming into focus now.

"I am T'Pol." She said, looking directly into his eyes. "Remain calm."

And she _pushed_…

D'Val rocked slightly. But didn't break eye contact.

"You're Vulcan." He said. Accusingly but with no significant alarm.

"I am. And you are D'Val."

D'Val stared. Thinking, obviously. But relatively calm so far.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asked.

"No, D'Val. I am going to save your life." She said, firmly. "You have been shot and I am here to help you. Trust me, D'Val, and I will help you."

"I…you're Vulcan…" He said, uncertainly.

"I am. I am here to help you."

D'Val frowned. And tried to pull away…but he couldn't muster the strength to break free. Or even the motivation to put much effort into it.

And he gave up. Just that easily.

"What do you want?" He said, slumping. Already defeated.

"Show me this place, D'Val." She said, staring intently at him. "Show me what occurred here and I will help you."

D'Val withered, staring at the floor.

"Alright…" He said.

* * *

><p>Tulok stood ready. Ready for what, he wasn't quite certain. But there was nothing else to do…so he waited. Ready.<p>

The Commander still sat in the Romulan's lap. An entirely uncomfortable thing to behold but…logical enough regardless. Her fingers placed precisely on the unconscious man's face.

And again, an entirely uncomfortable scene to have to witness. Ironically enough, considering how often other races referenced the matter jokingly…Vulcan pornography _did _exist. Extremely rare, and limited to specific underground sub-cultures…but it existed nonetheless. He'd seen an example of it once.

It looked very similar to this.

A man and woman. Bodily physical contact. One or both touching the other's face.

Tulok was moved to nausea despite himself. And was forced to suppress significant shame both for himself and the Commander. Yet at the same time, he was greatly impressed yet again at the strength Commander T'Pol exhibited. Few other Vulcan women, and certainly none other that he had ever known, would have suffered such a thing. Even in the line of duty.

T'Pol took a deep breath then and suddenly removed her hand from the man's face, letting the breath out again as she slumped slightly.

Tulok stepped forward, awkwardly, to offer his support. He reasoned that she would likely prefer not to be touched at the moment, even in support, considering what she'd just suffered. But it was logical for him to offer…so he did.

She accepted, reaching out to grasp his shoulder until she was able to regain her footing. Unsteady from the mind meld still, she allowed him to guide her to the seat opposite the Romulan.

"Tulok." She said, as she slumped into the seat. "I am fine. Merely weak from the meld."

"Yes, Commander." Tulok fretted. "Were you able to discover anything useful?"

"Yes. His name is D'Val and he is a fool." T'Pol said, breathing deeply. "Unintelligent, uninspired and weak willed. I find the only redeeming value in the man to be his infinite capacity for suffering abuse."

Tulok arched an eyebrow at the assessment, more than a little surprised. Until T'Pol looked up at him.

"He should not have been there, Tulok." She said. "On the station. This man was no soldier or agent. He barely qualified as a civilian. He should not have been there."

Tulok considered that. "Perhaps that is why he was shot?"

"As the station was abandoned?" T'Pol pointed out. "An odd time to take such action."

"We are not as familiar with Romulan culture as we would prefer to be. Perhaps there is some…"

"No. There was no cultural element we lack perspective on here. But there is something we do not understand and yet should. Something troubling."

T'Pol rose from the seat, unsteady still but trying to gather her strength. Tulok tensed immediately.

"The book." She said, refusing his move to support her. "The Uhlan Handbook you recovered from the man's pocket. That is the key."

"The key, Commander?"

"To the codes contained on the memory core." She explained, squaring her shoulders now. "According to D'Val, he was assigned possession and care of the handbook. And he turned the book over to the Major, Talen, whenever he asked for it. Which, as it happens, was whenever a coded communication was received from their superiors."

Tulok understand her meaning instantly.

"A book cypher, Commander?" Tulok asked, surprised. "That seems unlikely. It is a primitive form of encryption, easily solved by even the most basic decryption software."

"Unlikely, yes." T'Pol said, with some concern. "As it is unlikely that an Uhlan would be assigned possession of a common field manual, as if it were a matter of importance."

Tulok pondered that…and some other things that occurred to him as well.

"I begin to see your concern, Commander." He said. "There are many aspects to this investigation that begin to take on a sinister aspect in light of this."

"Indeed." T'Pol nodded. "Such as why those specific parathermite charges failed to detonate. Precisely those required for D'Val to survive."

"And why he was shot in the stomach," Tulok guessed. "With such a low level disruptor discharge, as if to _ensure _he survived."

T'Pol nodded. "And, Tulok…I begin to question even our fortune in uncovering just those recent intelligence breakthroughs that lead us to this series of listening posts. Just as they were all abandoned."

Tulok's eyes widened then, already realizing the implications.

"And to this one specifically." She said, gravely. "At this point in time."


	7. Chapter 7

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Trip waited with Benning at the port airlock. The port, as he still wasn't one hundred percent confident of the starboard airlock's integrity. They'd taken a bit of a hit near there and it was one of about a million little things on their 'to-do' list that they weren't bothering with.

Behind them stood the small, three-man security detail Benning had chosen for the purpose of escorting the Vulcans to the brig. And two more security officers stood to one side of them, assigned to give the shuttle a good, solid rummaging through before releasing it back to the _Kolinahr_.

Pretty much their whole security department right there.

The airlock pinged and opened immediately, seemingly before it cycled. Lieutenant Talla Shran stepping through in a flash, her antennae rigid with agitation.

"Talla," Trip said, nodding. "Good work over there. I didn't think you and Claiborne would…"

"I've got work to do." Shran snapped, fuming. Already brushing by, down the corridor toward engineering. Like something angry and blue the wind had inexplicably blown past him.

After a split second Claiborne appeared, casting around for his commanding officer and finally high-stepping it toward engineering. Forced to assume that's where she went, since she was already gone.

Trip gave him a quick 'yeah, go ahead' nod when _he_ at least spared him a glance, seeking permission to pursue.

So, okay. He should have seen that one coming. Shran and Vulcans…they didn't mix all that well…

Commander Keyla Song appeared next, exhaling a bit with relief when she stepped out into the corridor. In her case, probably more from having finally got back to the _Tempest _than over any particular discomfort at sharing a shuttle ride with Vulcans.

"Song." Trip said, grinning.

"Captain." She said, smiling back. "Good to be home. I was _dying _over there."

"Damned good work on the sensor ops, Keyla." He said. "Anything _here _I need to be worried about?"

Song glanced back at the interior of the shuttle.

"No," She said. "Talla just glared at everyone. No diplomatic incidents or anything, if that's what you mean."

Trip nodded. "Good. Hang around here for a minute. Eckerd's got the bridge for now and that'll do."

Song nodded and stepped over, waiting alongside the half dozen others in the hall for the Vulcans to exit the shuttle. And never mind, apparently, that no actual command officer was commanding the ship at the moment…

The first Vulcan stepped out…

…and Trip just sorta knew. His suspicions up to that point had been entertained on enough of a subconscious level that he hadn't fully been aware of them.

But, yeah, this one was going to be trouble. A _lot _of trouble. You could practically see it step off the shuttle right alongside her, smirking and waving at everyone it was going to make miserable for the next few days…

"Commander T'Pol." She said, identifying herself. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

Trip almost hesitated before granting it. But he nodded. With perhaps a _slight _hesitation.

"Come aboard." He said, evenly. "Kinda crowded out here but go ahead and pick a spot. Where's your prisoner?"

T'Pol stepped aside, turning her attention to the Vulcan stepping out behind her. And the third one exiting behind her, escorting her.

"Subaltern T'Lea." T'Pol said, gesturing at the prisoner. Then at the man immediately behind her. "And this is Major Tulok."

Trip waited, in case someone _else _was going to be stepping out. But no one did.

So he focused his attention on the young Subaltern.

"This is your prisoner?" He asked. "Isn't this the same woman you had piloting your shuttle before, Commander?"

"Indeed." T'Pol said, folding her hands at her back. "She is a highly skilled pilot."

As if that explained everything.

Trip stared, taking that in for a moment. And T'Pol stared back at him, entirely at ease. Betraying nothing at all.

So he looked to Song at his side.

"No one else got off this shuttle before you left?" He asked.

Keyla shrugged. "Not that I know of, Captain. But they were already…"

"But they were already waiting for you at the shuttle bay when you got there, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

Trip turned back to glare at the Vulcans. While Benning suddenly busied himself with his PADD, calling up something there to fiddle with.

"You're telling me you had your _prisoner _piloting your shuttle?" Trip demanded, turning to T'Pol. "Have I got that right, Commander?"

"Of course." T'Pol said, comfortably. "As I have said, she is a highly skilled pilot. She was the logical choice."

Trip turned to T'Lea. "And I suppose you didn't have a problem with that? Piloting the folks around who'd taken you into custody?"

T'Lea arched an eyebrow back at him. As if the question were ridiculous.

"Certainly not, Captain." She said. "As I had already been apprehended and any attempt at escape would be futile, it was logical to comply with the requirement."

Trip nodded, coldly. "Right. Of course."

Benning nudged him from the side, holding his PADD over to him so he could see it. Trip looked it over, then turned to share a look with the tactical officer, who frowned back at him.

Trip spared the Vulcans a good once-over before speaking again.

"Fine." He decided. "Benning, get these folks down to the brig. Put the prisoner in the cell and let Major Tulok here take guard. Your men will escort them and back him up there. Where I expect he'll remain on hand, seeing as how he's responsible for the prisoner."

He faced Commander T'Pol again. As the two Vulcans and half his security detachment filed by, making their way to the brig. And she wasn't offering anything, that he could see.

Trip turned to the two security still waiting behind him.

"Check the shuttle." He ordered. "And don't miss _anything_. Check the pilot, too, and run his identification by the _Kolinahr_. I want his jacket on my PADD for review when you get it."

Trip stared back at T'Pol again as the security officers moved past him for the shuttle. Daring her to say something about _that_. But she gazed back at him easily.

So he nodded. Fine. And tapped at the comm on his belt.

"Captain to the bridge." He said.

"_Bridge, Captain."_

"Soon as security's finished going over the shuttle and they get clear, you go ahead get us the hell out of here. The _Kolinahr _can catch up."

"_Understood, Captain."_

"You come with me." He said, nodding to T'Pol, his voice hard. "We've got things to talk about. Song, you come along, too."

* * *

><p>Trip stepped into the conference room, leading T'Pol and Song in. Taking up position to start butting heads once the Vulcan got into the room far enough.<p>

"Okay." He said, approaching the display table. "Where to start?"

He passed a hand over the rainbow surface, calling up the controls for computer access. And pulled up the video Benning had shown him in the hall a minute before. The same recording he'd used on the bridge to confirm with him that the Vulcans on the shuttle were intelligence agents.

He cycled forward quickly to the right place, froze it and zoomed in. On the spot between Commander T'Pol and Major Tulok. In the background, where the edge of the aisle seat behind them could be seen.

And the left shoulder clearly visible there. The shoulder of the fourth passenger on the shuttle.

Trip waggled a finger at the picture, floating high above the table so everyone in the room could see it clearly.

"So who's that, Commander?" He asked.

T'Pol looked at the holographic display curiously. But with no noticeable concern.

"That is Subaltern Marel." She said. "The shuttle pilot."

Trip nodded. "Right. And he's just sitting there while the _prisoner _pilots the shuttle."

"Of course." She said. As that was perfectly obvious.

"Sure." Trip nodded. "And I guess when security forwards that jacket to me, it'll confirm that the guy down in the shuttle right now is Subaltern Marel."

"I would presume."

"And Captain S'Kon would confirm that Subaltern Marel piloted you out to the belt to retrieve your prisoner."

"Again, I would presume so."

"Okay." Trip said, nodding. "So how'd Subaltern T'Lea get out there?"

T'Pol blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I think you heard me." Trip said. "If this pilot here shuttled you out to the belt to pick up your prisoner, how'd she get there? There was no other shuttle in the area, and no debris from one either, that I'm aware of."

T'Pol paused for a moment…

"That is what I am here to report, Captain." She said, evenly. "The asteroid, 9-Parilla. It housed a Romulan listening post that we were ordered here to investigate. Subaltern T'Lea was apprehended there, having been abandoned by the Romulans who operated the post. When they likewise abandoned the post itself."

"Abandoned." Trip said, to be clear. "Because, I guess, she was working with them. And that's why you had her in custody. You wouldn't have arrested her for being held _captive _or something."

"Certainly not." T'Pol said. "As I have said…"

"So where's her rank insignia?" Trip asked, turning to tap the display hanging above the table. Tapping the Vulcan collar, where no rank insignia presented itself.

"I assume she must have removed it." T'Pol suggested. "As she was working with…"

"Okay, how far do you really want to go with this?" Trip snapped, folding his arms. "Because I can stand here all day poking holes in your story. We haven't _got _all day, though. So why don't you just exercise some logic here and admit you're lying, so we can get past that."

"Very well." T'Pol said, without delay. "I am lying."

Trip blinked. Because…he hadn't really, seriously, expected she'd admit it like that.

"You're _lying_?" He asked. Just to be clear here.

"Of course." She said. "The prisoner was transferred to the custody of security personnel aboard the _Kolinahr _prior to your Executive Officer's arrival in the shuttle bay. Agent T'Lea then assumed the role, to act as your prisoner."

"Why?" Trip snapped.

"Because we did not wish to turn over custody of the prisoner to you." She said, patiently. Because that should have been quite obvious.

"Why not?" Trip snapped. Again.

T'Pol arched an eyebrow at him. But didn't answer.

So he waited, glaring at her. Until she was forced to respond.

"I can lie again, if you wish, Captain." She said, evenly.

It was quiet for a moment. As Trip glared at T'Pol. And T'Pol look calmly back at him…

"Crap." Song said suddenly, already tapping her comm.

"What?" Trip asked.

"Song to the bridge." She said, looking back at him.

"_Bridge, Commander."_

"Check the _Kolinahr's _heading, Eckerd." Song said, frowning.

"_Uh…they're off course a good bit, Commander. Comm's trying to hail…"_

"Plot their course. Where are they headed?"

"_Plot…? Right, they're…Commander, they're on course for Vulcan. Just hitting warp four…Comm's not getting any response to hails, ma'am."_

Song glared back at Trip. Who just turned and tossed his hands a bit. Cursing quietly.

"Understood, bridge. Carry on." Song said, tapping her comm closed.

And it was quiet again.

Song was tense, expecting the Captain to start yelling at someone in a minute. At the Vulcan, hopefully. The Vulcan in question didn't seem particularly anxious, though. In fact, she looked almost bored…

"Why the hell are you even on my ship?" Trip said, turning around again.

T'Pol's eyebrow flittered up again. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you _here_?" Trip repeated. "You managed to snatch that prisoner right from under us. So why didn't you just get off on the _Kolinahr _and go the hell home? If I can't even present your prisoner to Colonel Hauser when we arrive, then I don't see any benefit to having Vulcan agents on my ship."

"I have intelligence to relay to Colonel Hauser." T'Pol said. "And having said that, I require a private, secure comm with the Colonel as soon as possible."

"Fine." Trip nodded. "But you'll report to me first. Tell me about this Romulan listening post, Commander."

"As I've said, I must report to Colonel Hauser. This information should be limited in distribution to Alpha Centauri Defense Force command."

"We're code one." Trip pointed out. "That puts Centauri Defense under Starfleet command. So you're talking to the defense force right now."

T'Pol pondered that.

"This information is highly sensitive." She said, finally.

"You're concerned about security?" Trip said, with a touch of sarcasm. "Well, I can understand that. We're tight as drum around here. Isn't that right, Song?"

Song blinked. 'Tight as a…'?

Oh, crap. _This _again.

"Uh…yes, Captain."

"What's standard operation procedure number one aboard the _Tempest_, Commander Song?"

Oh, jeez. She just knew it…

"Don't make me say that, Captain…" Song frowned.

"Come on, Keyla." Trip said, not taking his eyes off T'Pol.

"Rule number one is you do not talk about the _Tempest, _Captain." She said, reluctantly.

"And what's standard operating procedure number two?"

Song sighed. "You _do not talk _about the _Tempest_."

"And how's Project Mayhem coming along?"

"Sir, the first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions, sir."

Trip nodded.

"See?" He said to T'Pol, jerking a thumb at Song. "Tight as a drum."

T'Pol glanced over at the Executive Officer. Then back at the Captain.

It would seem they had some measure of strict communication guidelines in effect regarding sensitive information. But she strongly suspected, judging from the subtle cues being displayed…

"You are mocking me." She decided.

"And you lied. So I guess we're even." Trip said. "So, spill it. I want to know what we'll be presenting to Colonel Hauser _before we _present it to him. Fill me in here."

* * *

><p>"…and so you suspect this coded information was planted." Colonel Hauser said, over the table's holographic screen. "<em>Intended <em>to be intercepted and confirmed by the prisoner they arranged to be taken into custody."

"That is correct, Colonel." T'Pol said, facing the screen. Her hands tucked precisely at her back.

"Captain Tucker, what have you got on this?"

"Sir, I'm afraid I'll have to agree." He shrugged. "Hell of a coincidence with those demolition charges and the guy surviving in the first place. And according to the Commander here, they abandoned post just hours before the _Kolinahr _came on the scene. It had to be the same Bird of Prey we engaged that picked them up, in fact."

Colonel Hauser glared from atop the table, down at Commander T'Pol.

"Commander, if I thought I'd accomplish anything worth a damn ripping you a new for this little stunt you pulled, I'd do that." He said. "But since I don't think I will, let's not and pretend we did. Alright?"

"I agree, Colonel." T'Pol said. Agreeably.

"Good." Hauser said. "And I'll be taking that up with High Command. Again, not that it'll amount to a damned thing. Now where are we on this coded message? You've at least recovered it from the computer memory core you picked up?"

"We have." T'Pol said. "As well as the document we suspect serves as the key. From what I was able to gather in the course of my interrogation, we are dealing with a simple book cipher."

"That's good, then. Nothing our cryptography gear over here can't handle quick enough…"

"Excuse me, Colonel." T'Pol said. "Our own portable gear serves sufficiently as well. But we have failed so far to crack the code, even with the text available and already converted. If we have proven unable to break the code yet, it is doubtful you will be able to do so quickly enough to act on the information."

"Well, I'm not seeing a third option here, Commander." Hauser frowned. "But of course, you have something in mind, I take it?"

"I do." She said. "We will work in conjunction with your cryptography team on Celestial station when we arrive. Together, we should be able…"

"We don't exactly have a cryptography team here, Commander." Hauser said. "Just the software. This isn't the sort of thing we routinely deal with. We could call in some military resources planet-side, but that brings us up against time constraints again."

T'Pol nodded. "I see. Nevertheless, that should prove sufficient. Whatever manner of book cipher we are dealing with, as long as we have the proper software available, it is only small matter of time before we crack it."

"Tucker? You have someone there that you can assign to oversee Commander T'Pol?"

T'Pol spoke quickly. "That will not be necessary, Colonel…"

"Wasn't talking to you, Commander." Hauser snapped. "Trip?"

Trip nodded. "Song here's my science officer _and _my XO, Colonel. She's got cryptography training, sir."

"Well…just _basic _cryptography, through academy science operations courses, sir." She said to Hauser. "But we covered that the first week. I guess I can brush up on a few things…"

"Good enough." Hauser said. "Get to work on it, Tucker. We'll transfer your people and Commander T'Pol here to our security department when you arrive."

"Understood, sir." Trip acknowledged.

"Keep an _eye on _things, Tucker." The Colonel warned. "And let's try to get this on the plate before Admiral Coleman arrives. Hauser out."

The display went dark, collapsing back into the surface of the table.

T'Pol, being prone to efficiency, wasted no time. She turned to the two Humans in the room.

"As it stands, all possible combinations of returns using standard and exotic language platforms in relation to all known variants of book cipher cryptography have already been reviewed, with no tenable results. Consequently, Major Tulok and I have determined it is most probable we are dealing with an equidistant letter sequence, and so require a key phrase or numerical string to determine the boundaries of the matrix…"

"Wait." Trip said, holding up one hand to T'Pol. "Translate for me here, Song. What the hell's she talking about?"

"Uh…" Song hesitated. "It's kind of complicated…"

"Just give me the basics."

The basics? That was…a little…well, she wasn't really sure what T'Pol had said _wasn't _'the basics'…

"Um…okay." She said, giving it a shot. "Imagine a book. A string of text. And take out all the punctuation and spaces and whatnot. Until you got just one long string of text. Okay?"

Trip nodded. Got it.

"Then you pick a distance…say, a hundred characters along the string." She said. "You break off that string at one hundred. Then again at the _next _hundred. Until you've got the whole string broken down in lines, one after the other, each of them one hundred characters long…"

"Hold on." Trip said, "You're talking about a bible code."

"A…what, sir?"

"You just pick a starting point, one of those letters there." He said. "Then you jump ahead the same number of letters each time, all the way through, until you have another string. And you keep doing that, picking random starting points and skip points until you find words or phrases hidden in there…"

"Well, I suppose." Song said, uncertainly. "But we're talking about words that have already been searched for and identified. Words that just appear at random, by chance, in the string. The code is supposed to tell us _which _words in what order, so it can relay a message…"

"Right." Trip said. "So you're talking about running an ELS search on the key text. The Romulan handbook, in this case. You find a few places where the word you want shows up and you send off one of those…what, coordinates I guess? And the guy on the other end uses _his_ book to find that word."

"Yeah, that's…pretty much it." Song nodded. "How did you know about this? I didn't think you had any cryptography training."

Trip shrugged. "I don't. We used to play with this in the academy. It's bible code. You run software that looks through the bible. Maybe a billion different random matrixes like you said, searching for whatever words or phrases you tell it to. Or just look for random things to report back. It's pretty weird the stuff that's encoded in there. Been around for about a thousand years or something, Song. I'm surprised you never heard of it."

Song frowned. "Not my kind of party, I guess. But you're familiar with this?"

"Yeah, sure. In fact…" Trip said. "Hey, Alice. Online."

"_Hello, Trip. Would you like to review tactical simulations?"_

"No, thanks." Trip said. "Access my personal console and look around for some software in there. Something or other 'bible code'. Pretty sure I just grabbed every bundle on my personal computer when I shipped out. Should still have a copy of it in there somewhere."

"_Searching…I have it. Would you like to access it from the conference room display table?"_

"No, you access it." He said. "We've got a text source I'm going to download here, and a set of ELS codes. Run all possible combinations and report back anything that looks coherent. Anything that makes sense or might form a message of some kind."

"_Awaiting input, Trip."_

He turned to T'Pol then. "Okay, let's get that stuff plugged in here…"

Then noticed her eyebrow. Because she throwing it up at him like that.

"What?" He said.

"You have an artificial intelligence program on this vessel, Captain." T'Pol said, accusingly.

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh! No. No, Alice is just a language processor. Analogous Language Interface Computer."

T'Pol stared.

"It's basically just a computer with a universal translator at its core. Uses basic root language structures in place of a programming language."

T'Pol cocked her head a little, to match her eyebrow.

"So you can give it plain language instructions and it'll write its own programming." He explained. "We're supposed to be testing the system, letting it build a database as it interacts and adjusts to new commands. But it's usually just easier to perform our regular duties with standard consoles, so we've…kinda haven't been…"

Nothing.

"Look, it's not an AI." He said, a little frustrated. "Trust me. So do you have those codes? And the handbook you were talking about?"

T'Pol produced a Vulcan PADD, still eyeing him dubiously but apparently not willing to pursue the matter further just yet.

"Alright, just plug them in there." Trip said, frowning.

T'Pol searched the holographic interface in front of her. Having no idea…

"I am unfamiliar with this system." She said. "Plug it in _where_?"

Trip frowned, tapping something in front of him. And a port of some kind began flashing in front of her.

It occurred to her to ask and clarify that the hologram in front of her would actually be able to _access _her PADD. And receive _data _from it. Because a hologram couldn't normally do that…

But she didn't appreciate seeming off balance or uninformed. And it was obvious that it was expected, so…she just plugged the PADD into the somehow solid holographic 'port' before her…and hoped she wasn't being foolish…

"_I'm ready, Trip. Would you like me to begin?"_

"Go ahead, Alice."

"_Working."_

After a second or two it was clear Alice wouldn't be throwing back any Romulan messages right away. So T'Pol turned to Tucker.

"Captain, I have never seen holographic technology this advanced." She said. "I was unaware Earth had developed anything like this. As I'm sure High Command is unaware."

"They didn't develop it." Trip said. "I did. This tech is exclusive to the _Tempest_. Cutting edge, prototype, under development. You haven't heard of it because you won't find it anywhere else but here. If you'd run home on the _Kolinahr _like you should've_, _you could have pulled a file on the _Tempest _over at Ministry of Information headquarters and probably read all about it."

T'Pol was unconvinced. "I find that doubtful." She said.

Trip shrugged, not bothering to look at her. "Couldn't care less. If you folks dropped the ball and didn't pick up on any of this, that's not my problem. You're the intel officer. You should probably be taking scans or something."

"You would allow that, Captain?"

And _now _he looked at her. Smirking.

"The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions, Commander T'Pol."

T'Pol considered his answer.

"You would not allow it." She determined, after a moment.

"No." Trip said. "And I wouldn't recommend trying to sneak a scan, if I were you. And you'll just have to trust me on that. Security will know about it before you can say 'please stop clubbing me on the head'."

T'Pol stared coldly at the Human Captain. Not appreciated being mocked yet again.

And suppressing frustration that this seemed only to amuse him all the more…

_"I'm finished, Trip. Would you like to review the results?"_

"Yeah, go ahead, Alice." He said, returning his attention to the table. Where a screen rose up, with four lines of text appearing there.

In Romulan.

"Alice, it would kinda help if we could read that." He said.

Nothing happened.

Trip sighed.

"See?" He said, to T'Pol. "This is why we don't use Alice so much. I just figured you'd find it easier than the hologram interface, but…look, can you _translate_ that, Alice?"

_"Of course, Trip."_

Nothing happened.

"_Translate that_, Alice." Trip said.

The text shifted immediately.

_"Will the room denote an incorporated union?_  
><em>The triple style jumps inside the idea by remarkable diligence.<em>  
><em>A telling virgin drives the estate.<em>  
><em>The dirt bubble offends knowing percentiles."<em>

Trip gestured at the screen. "Okay, I'm not the intelligence officer here, but were we expecting this to make sense?"

"Wait, this is the best Alice could come up with?" Song asked. "With the whole book to work from?"

"I told her to give us everything coherent." Trip said. "Anything that looked like a message."

T'Pol suppressed frustration. "It would have been logical to wait until we had access to proper cryptography software…"

"Hey, our computer's as good as anything on Celestial station." Trip insisted. "We're just missing something somewhere. Are you sure those codes are complete? There isn't some other key or something you missed?"

"It is a book cipher." T'Pol argued. "Whether an equidistant letter sequence form of book cipher or not, all that should be required are the key text and the codes themselves. Especially if our assumptions here are correct, that the Romulans left the codes with the intention that it be broken easily."

"So maybe they didn't intend for it to be broken easily." Trip countered. "Maybe our assumptions here are wrong."

"No, Captain. She's right." Song offered, shaking her head. "If that were the case we wouldn't be dealing with a book cipher of any kind. We'd have a code so complicated and deeply embedded that, even if we recognized it _was_ a code, it would take the most advanced computers available a few _months_ to crack it. Cryptography's gotten pretty advanced over the last few hundred years, sir."

"Well, then, we're missing something." Trip said, irritably. "Something obvious, since the Romulans are supposed to just be handing this code right over to us…"

"Captain…" T'Pol said. And something in her voice got his attention. So he looked over at her.

Finding her holding something in her hand.

A small, framed picture, he saw. Which he recognized immediately when she held it up for him.

"Where'd you get that?" He asked, surprised. It wasn't the kind of thing you'd expect a Vulcan to be carrying around.

"You recognize this, Captain?" T'Pol asked.

"Sure. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog." He said. "I remember that from grade school or something. At least, I _think_…"

"Whoa! Whoa, wait a minute." Song exclaimed. "The quick brown fox _jumps_ over the lazy dog. That's a pangram."

"A pangram?" T'Pol asked, quickly.

"Right, right." Trip said, remembering the significance. "A sentence that uses every letter in the alphabet. I mean…that is right, isn't it Song?"

"That's it." She nodded, excited. "And that's got to be our missing key. Where'd you get that, Commander?"

"It was hanging on the wall above the Romulan Major's desk." She said. "Above the computer console containing the memory core…"

"Where you got the code in the first place." Trip frowned. "Yeah, okay. I think I'm convinced here, people. They really _did_ want us to break this code. They're practically beating us over the head with it."

"Alice…" T'Pol said, hesitantly. "Does your database contain the proper enumeration of the Romulan alphabet?"

_"I'm sorry. It doesn't, you damned Vulcan."_

"Very well. If the…" T'Pol said.

Wait…what had…?

"Excuse me?" T'Pol asked, her eyebrow jumping.

"Uh…yeah." Trip said. "That's…she must have picked that up somewhere…uh…nix the 'damned Vulcan' thing, please, Alice."

_"Understood, Trip. Correcting phraseology."_

Commander Song appeared to be choking as well, T'Pol noted with some alarm. Which only caused the entire situation to become all the _more_ confusing…

And Captain Tucker's neck had suddenly turned an alarming shade of red, suggesting an extreme emotional reaction…

Unless…Commander Song was attempting to suppress _humor_. Unsuccessfully and at Captain Tucker's expense…

In which case…

T'Pol's eyes narrowed.

"So…uh…the Romulan alphabet, Alice." Trip said, tugging at his uniform collar uncomfortably. "You don't know in what order that's supposed to be in?"

_"I'm sorry. I don't have that information, Trip."_

"You've got the handbook now, right?" Trip said, studiously ignoring T'Pol's glare. "Can you find a phonetic alphabet listed there? Starfleet's introductory student handbook had one. I'm guessing the Romulan equivalent must have something like that."

_"I have it, Trip."_

"Okay, use the order of the Romulan alphabet as given _there_ for…whatever Commander T'Pol was going to ask you about."

_"I don't have enough information concerning what Commander T'Pol was going to…"_

"Right, just…hold on." Trip said, turning to T'Pol. Awkwardly. "Uh…go ahead, Commander."

T'Pol waited a moment. Eyes still narrowed at him. Still staring coldly, holding him in that icy stare long enough to be sure he understood that _she_ understood…

"Very well." She said, flatly. "Alice, compare the sequence of the English Standard alphabet given in the phrase 'the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog' to the equivalent Romulan alphabet, using the closest possible pronunciation to correlate. Using the result as the new Romulan alphabet sequence, assign the pronunciation of the standard Romulan alphabet, in their original sequence, to this new sequence on an individual basis. Then run the ELS search again."

_"Working."_

Trip stared a bit. Then turned to Song.

"You have any idea what she just said?" He asked.

"I think so, Captain." Song said. "But if you ask me translate that for you my brain might fall out."

"Yeah, okay." He said. "Never mind."

T'Pol attempted to explain. "I have instructed your computer program to exchange…"

"Yeah, thanks." Trip said, shaking his slightly and grinning. "I don't want my brain falling out."

_"I have the results. Would you like to review the most coherent and relevant returns, Commander T'Pol?"_

"Yes." T'Pol said, simply.

_"Main fleet approaching Vulcan, Sculptoris._  
><em>Captain Trip has murdered.<em>  
><em>Diversionary fleet to Centauri, Earth.<em>  
><em>Abandon station.<em>  
><em>Valek arriving to retrieve.<em>  
><em>Activate D'Val."<em>

Trip grumbled for a moment, below the hearing of anyone else in the room. T'Pol, of course, heard him perfectly.

"Damned computer."

Which only served to reinforce her suspicions concerning Alice's prior phraseology.

"Okay, first." Trip said. "I haven't murdered anyone that I recall. Second, isn't this exactly what we already know?"

"Alice," T'Pol said. "What other coherent returns were you able to discover?"

_"The hail forms a prison._  
><em>My baby trouble involves your calculus.<em>  
><em>I doubt the eternal lover awaits mine.<em>  
><em>Before the well she stumbles to overlap.<em>  
><em>A blue boil's opposite is envy."<em>

"Yeah, that's a lot of nonsense." Trip said. "And I remember now why bible code was so much fun. I haven't murdered anybody, it just randomly appears in there. And Alice included it because it qualified as coherent and relevant. But, look, the point is…we already _know_ this. So why go through all the trouble to leave us a coded message confirming what we already know? What would they gain from that?"

"The code was intended to present false information." T'Pol said.

"Yeah, but this _isn't_ false." Trip insisted. "It's exactly what we're looking at out there. We've got a diversionary fleet moving in on Centauri and the main fleet going through Sculptoris, for Vulcan."

T'Pol considered the text on the screen.

"Perhaps not, Captain." She said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Tucker leaned forward over the display table, one hand holding himself up. The other reaching up to rub fretfully at the back of his neck.

"Okay…Alice, copy what you've got to a portable file." He said, tiredly. "Transfer and secure to my PADD."

"_I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave."_

"Voiceprint authorization 'daisy, daisy, two-zero-zero-one'."

"_Working…done, Trip."_

"Alice, offline." He said, already working the controls at hand, calling up the current mission report. "Commander Song, we're probably five minutes from Celestial station, so you get on up to the bridge. Eckerd's got to be pulling his hair out by now. I'll make an announcement, then I'll take T'Pol's team in and report to Hauser."

Song nodded. "Yes, sir."

"The Vulcans are going to take priority, so we'll have to wait until they clear Celestial security before our people can take leave." He said, turning to look at her. "Let _them _figure out what to do with the crew the _Kolinahr _left behind. Just get them through security quickly so they can be transferred to medical. I want _our _people off the ship and repairs underway as soon as you can manage it. Then you come meet us on the station."

Trip gazed out over the table, calling up a few other displays while he talked. Trying to get some kind of overview, a look at the big picture here. There was still a lot to do…and…

Damn. Was that…?

"Well, son of a bitch." He said, quietly. Seeing one report in particular, on the system tactical map.

"Sir?" Song asked, already nearly to the door, ready to hike for the bridge.

"The _Enterprise_." Trip said, gesturing at that particular tactical report. "Looks like they're heading in, almost in-system already."

Song came back to the table.

Because…that might be a problem.

"Sir, they've got us tagged for a supply run." She said, pointing out the duty schedule appended there. "_Enterprise _isn't even stopping at the station."

Trip was already nodding, thinking ahead. "And that's good. That means they're going to limit our time in dock, so we can get out there to meet them."

"I would have thought they'd have one of the Neptunes make that run…"

"No, I guess that makes sense. I bet Hauser doesn't want me around when Coleman takes over. Whatever the case may be, I'm not going to argue with it if it gets _Tempest _out of dock. They can just toss all the modules and gear through the door, for all I care."

"Sir, if we get this report to Hauser quick enough…or Coleman, as the case may be…do you think we can convince them to hold onto the _Enterprise _before she…?"

"Doubt it." Trip said, tightly. "Or…maybe. Look, I don't know. Doesn't matter. Let's deal with what we've got in front of us already. Get on up to the bridge and I'll report in with the brass when we dock."

Song dithered a bit more, though…

"Captain, are you going to be okay with the _Enterprise_…?"

"It's fine, Song." Trip said, frowning. "Let's focus on getting _Tempest _back out on the line."

"Yes, sir."

Song didn't wait for anything else to pop up and demand her attention. She turned and left the room, heading for the bridge just a few meters away.

Which left Tucker alone with T'Pol, who'd remained quiet all the while. And even though Song had forgotten she was standing there, just as quickly as he had, it bothered him that she'd so easily faded into the background like that. Because it was pretty obvious that she'd meant to.

"So what am I supposed to do with you?" Trip asked, turning his head her way.

"Do with me?" T'Pol replied. "You need do nothing with me, Captain, beyond reporting to Colonel Hauser."

Trip nodded. "Okay. I'd guess you'd better. You practically broke the code all by yourself…"

Which got him thinking.

"That was pretty smart." He said, cocking his head slightly. "I've worked with some very intelligent people in my time but I haven't had too many leave me in the dust like that. What are you doing in intelligence?"

T'Pol lowered her eyes for only a moment, considering what he'd said…

"You do realize the irony of what you just asked me, Captain?" She suggested, meeting his eyes again.

Trip chuckled. "Yeah, okay. But you know what I mean."

"I suppose I do." She admitted. "And I hope you will understand that by Vulcan standards that poses a far more personal inquiry than would be considered appropriate."

Trip was immediately abashed. Jeez, it was easy to forget with some of these Vulcans how easy it was to step on their toes…

"Right. I'm sorry, I didn't think…" He said, quickly.

"It is quite alright." She said. "I understand that by Humans standards it must seem a reasonable inquiry. Perhaps even acceptable and expected."

After a moment's pause, with nothing further forthcoming, Trip began to wonder whether or not she was going to answer. It had seemed like it at first, but…

"So…?" He asked, uncertainly.

"A position in the Ministry of Information was offered to me following mandatory military service." She said. "Lacking definition and clarity regarding the path before me at that time, I accepted. It was logical to do so. I have served with the Ministry since then, as my work continues to profit the Vulcan people."

Trip nodded politely. Feeling a little awkward, for some reason he couldn't quite fathom. He was usually pretty comfortable chit-chatting with people. But then they weren't usually so dry and matter-of-fact about it.

Of course, could just be the fact that he was, for some ungodly reason, chit-chatting with a _Vulcan_. Because, yeah, he could see how _that _might…

"And you, Captain?" T'Pol asked, suddenly.

"Oh." Trip blinked. "Right. Well.."

Well, that was…where to start?

"Kind of a long story, actually." He said.

"I see." T'Pol said, flatly. And looked away, uncomfortable. "I apologize. I assumed I would be expected to reciprocate."

"No! No…" He said, rushing to explain. "It really is a pretty long…complicated…_strange_…story."

"I understand." She said, nodding slightly. "I only asked as I felt it was required. We do have important matters to attend to."

"Right." Trip nodded, quickly. "But I'm just…kinda surprised you never heard of me, I guess."

T'Pol stared back for a moment. "Should I have?"

"No, no." Trip said. "Kind of glad you haven't, really. Forget I said anything."

T'Pol stared again. At the very odd, very stereotypically Human request.

"I will try." She said, passively.

Well, Trip thought. And, well again. This was nicely uncomfortable, wasn't it?

And, damn it, he was the captain around here. He didn't have to put up with uncomfortableness.

"Right. So go ahead and get down to the brig." He said, with what authority he could muster. "Get your people together and meet me at the airlock. I've got a few calls to make, then I'll be there."

T'Pol nodded. "Very well, Captain."

And she made her exit quickly and gracefully. Before he could realize he'd let her loose on the ship unsupervised, and had the chance to assign her an escort of some sort.

But behind her, as the door to the conference room slid shut, Trip was already setting the ship's security monitors to follow her. Feeding the live stream to one display at the side, while he set up another for outbound comm.

Because he'd run afoul of intelligence types before. Mostly the Human variety but he doubted they differed much from species to species. They typically came in two flavors. Those that enjoyed poking their noses into corners, digging up secrets and basically making life difficult for those responsible for _keeping _secrets…like the secrets scattered all around the ship, for example. The ones _he _was responsible for keeping.

The other kind being those operatives that honestly just wanted to do their job. Uncover threats to whatever nation or organization they worked for. The ones that genuinely wanted to _protect _whatever people they represented. _Those _kind of agents he could usually get along with.

The way he figured it, if she was one of the troublesome kind she'd make a bee-line for the engine room. Or the computer core. Maybe just pick a lock or two and peek into whatever secure area she passed first. But if she was one of the _other _kind, like he sort of hoped she was, she'd head right to the brig. Because reporting to Hauser was the important thing here and the Romulans were the threat that needed to be dealt with. Not holograms and Project Mayhem.

So depending on what she did with the seemingly unsupervised, unsecured tour of the ship he'd just tossed in her lap, he'd know how hard he'd have to come down on her. Even if he _did _mean to bar her from the ship the moment he managed to get her off of it…

…still, it was a little surprising that the only place she did stop and poke her nose around was the ship's dedication plaque, off the bridge down the hall. She made straight for it, stood there examining it for over a minute and even researched a few things on her Vulcan PADD for a minute more. _Then _headed straight for the brig to get her team.

Damned if he could make heads or tails of that.

* * *

><p>T'Pol examined the plaque in detail, expecting it might shed some light on who exactly Trip Tucker was, and why she was unaware of him when it would seem she should have been. And moreover concerning this ship, as it clearly represented a large gap in Vulcan intelligence regarding Starfleet. An organization they were supposed to be a part of, to one degree or another, having signed onto the Coalition that ostensibly governed it.<p>

She did not appreciate being uninformed. That demanded immediate rectification.

_Tempest  
><em>_Hammerhead Class - Starfleet Registry NC-114  
><em>_Launched May 4, 2156 - San Francisco Fleet Yards  
><em>_Charles Tucker III, Commander  
><em>"_Frustra gladium non ferant"_

Several facts leapt out at her already, such as the fact that the ship had apparently been launched little more than five months ago. And that the ship had been constructed quite openly, in Earth orbit, yet still somehow remained obscure. It had appeared in no intelligence reports that _she _had been privy to, at least.

But above and beyond them all being the fact that no one had yet used the Captain's proper first name in her presence. It would seem it was not 'Trip' at all. It was Charles.

Charles Tucker.

The Chief Engineer of Starfleet's flagship, _Enterprise_, at its launch. The first Human to interact directly with the Xyrillians and, in fact, the one who'd inadvertently, by all accounts at least, been impregnated as a result. Bringing that child to term a full four months before the Xyrillians could finally arrive on Earth to reclaim it.

An event which had sent any number or shockwaves, relatively speaking, through the ranks of High Command, following the diplomatic accords between Earth and Xyrillia that had followed. Against all projections.

Ironically enough, she had nearly been assigned to that very ship at its launch. Saved from that particular covert mission by the death of her betrothed and the demands of decorum in that regard. Indeed, she otherwise would likely have been on hand to witness that disturbing event.

Nevertheless, this did indeed illuminate a number of things she'd witnessed aboard this ship. The highly advanced holography, for one thing. The presence of ship shielding being used in conjunction with hull polarization, for another. And, in point of fact, the odd configuration of the impulse engine thrusters and the ship's entire profile overall, as she'd taken note of on approach. Both being notable departures from standard Starfleet designs.

The ship was indeed a prototype of some sort, as the Captain had suggested. Possessing who knows what manner of hybrid Human/Xyrillian technology. The dedication plaque clearly confirmed as much. Tucker's name was listed there in no less than four additional places, _beyond _his listing as commanding officer. Among the space frame engineers, the propulsion system engineers, the research and development team…even the yard engineers. And mixed in among them all there were as many non-Human names as Human. A quick round of research on her PADD confirming those names most likely being Xyrillian…

It was fascinating indeed.

The Ministry of Information had followed Human news reports, as well as reports from a variety of much more exotic sources, concerning the fallout from Charles Tucker's pregnancy. Most of them dealing with pressure from various political powers to have him abort the child, or allow it to otherwise be removed, fearing the high likelihood that bringing it to term would result in his death. And again when those same influences attempted to circumvent his will in that regard, when he conversely objected to the high likelihood of the child's death as a result…

Then still further when the Xyrillians arrived, and their response to all of _that _when it had come to light…

Projections had, at first, suggested it would present an insurmountable obstacle to the Human's attempts to engage with the Xyrillians. They had shown little interest in developing ties with Vulcan, after all. Yet the Humans had succeeded where they had failed, and to a startling degree. The Xyrillians had very nearly joined the Coalition in the end, alongside Andoria and Tellar. And Vulcan herself, of course. Even at last report continuing to entertain talks concerning that.

Still, there remained the mystery…why was she not already aware that Charles Tucker had regained his commission with Starfleet? And even been assigned a command, aboard a Human/Xyrillian prototype vessel no less? One he'd played a large role in designing and constructing, apparently.

These matters clearly required further investigation.

* * *

><p>When Commander T'Pol reached the lift and entered it, Tucker gave up trying to figure out what the Vulcan had been up to with all that. Or what she might have gathered from the plaque, other than his being involved with the ship's design. Maybe she'd been impressed or something. Not likely, considering she was Vulcan…but, you never know...<p>

Dismissing all that and closing out the monitor there, he reached for his belt, ready to do the next thing on his list of a thousand things that needed to be done. Addressing the crew and getting them up to speed.

And stopped himself just in time, realizing…he wasn't really sure what to say to them. Or how to say it. Or…hell, what a captain was even _supposed _to say right now.

So, as much as he hated it, he sorta had to consider what _Archer _would say at a time like this…

He tapped the comm. And so maybe he'd just have to wing it anyway…

"This is the Captain." He said. "I realize a lot's been going on recently and most of you haven't been properly informed of the situation. Here's where we stand. Just before we arrived at the _Kohlinahr_, Starfleet issued a code one to all ships. Reports suggest a large scale Romulan incursion through sectors oh-oh-eight and oh-oh-six. Alpha Centauri looks to be the front line for oh-oh-eight. And that's us."

* * *

><p>In the top nacelle of the <em>Tempest<em>, Shran diverted a portion of her attention to the announcement, sure she already knew everything relevant to her department. Until Tucker referenced the _scale _of the incursion, which she _hadn't _known.

She stopped wrestling with the thermal sheath then. Two whole sectors of space was a nearly unimaginable frontline for any war. That the Romulans might actually be able to field such numbers…perhaps the Orions could do as much, but it would require organization far beyond their capabilities. And so it would seem the Romulans were far more organized a pirate species than the Orions were slavers. Which established them as significant threat instantly, and far beyond what had been suspected of them up until now.

"_When we dock in a few minutes, our security and theirs will be busy transporting the wounded Vulcan personnel to medical. And we'll be locked down for a while. As soon as we have our orders, they'll be relayed to you through your department heads."_

Claiborne scrambled up the ladder nearby, up onto the walkway. Looking anxious and obviously seeking some kind of support.

From _her_.

"_We've got a lot ahead of us, I know. Make do with what you've got and I won't ask any more from you than excellence. But above all, stand firm and stand ready. None of you were chosen with a combat role in mind here, I know. This is a prototype vessel, still technically on her shakedown cruise."_

Jack came alongside her to listen, thankfully not attempting to engage her attention in any way just yet. It was difficult enough having him, or anyone else for that matter, in her presence these days.

"_But I'll let you in on something you'll find out soon enough. As of now only two Starfleet vessels have yet to engage the enemy. The Patton was the first, lost approximately twenty-six hours ago in the Beta Rigel system. The second vessel to engage them was the Tempest. And we kicked their asses."_

Talla suddenly breathed deeply, entirely despite herself. Literally swelling with pride for the _Tempest_. _Of course _her ship had stomped the _thezha _out of those sneaky Romulan _brigands_…!

"_You're trained, you're smart and you're ready. You're Starfleet. And the Tempest has a few tricks they're never gonna see coming. So we will win this, and we'll get through it. Stand firm, stand ready, and we'll see the other side of this soon enough. That is all."_

Talla nodded, as if the Captain were there for him to see her complete agreement. And she was grinning wickedly, which she wasn't entirely aware of until she turned. And Claiborne saw it.

So she stopped that. And dropped all expression from her face but distain for his presence. Forcing her antennae back to make clear her disapproval.

"Claiborne, is there a reason you're here?" She said, coldly. "Instead of somewhere else, being productive?"

"Oh. I was just…" Claiborne stuttered. "Those deuterium lines Alpha team ran through section 2B. I was just prepping them for the station teams, so they could pull…"

"Prepping the deuterium lines." Talla said. "That sounds like an excellent idea. Don't let me keep you."

"Right. I just thought…"

"Get back to work, Ensign." She glared, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes, ma'am."

And he was gone. Down the ladder and back to work. So that she could breath again.

Taking a second look at the thermal sheath and the tangled mass of lines and power conduits that had been jammed under it…she decided it suddenly didn't seem like something she really wanted to deal with. Let the engineering crews on Celestial Station untangle that mess.

She had subordinates in sickbay. Or…probably sitting in the hall _outside _sickbay, as nearly all of Deck B had consigned to triage. But there were two crewman and an ensign, one of which being the sole survivor of the disaster that'd cost them one of their shuttles. And the ensign in question had lost his entire team of engineering crewman with that…

Talla threw the thermal sheath down, suddenly furious. And frustrated.

And more than a little hopeless.

With a tired sigh, she sought a way around that. But soon enough accepted it was something that wasn't going to let her go without acting upon it…

So she left the walkway, scaled down the ladder and headed for Deck B. Stomping a bit and glaring at everyone who, thankfully, came within range of it. Trying to make herself feel a little better.

And when she reached the lift and stepped in, finding _her _there, it was a cold blessing.

"Are you lost, Vulcan?" Talla snapped, jabbing the Deck B button with barely a glance.

"Is the brig located at the end of corridor C, Deck B?" T'Pol asked.

"What?" Talla said, as if the question were a particularly stupid one. "Of course it is. You can read a map can't you? It's right there."

Talla pointed at the map on the wall of the lift. It was right there.

"Then I am not lost." T'Pol said, dismissively.

Talla's fury leapt.

"Then that's good." She snarled. "The brig is the perfect place…!"

"_Security alert. Deck B, forward. Security officers, man your stations."_

Talla blinked. And T'Pol looked up, where the security alert had come from. One eyebrow raised speculatively.

When the lift door opened, Talla turned her attention in that direction, away from the infuriating Vulcan. Because there was a ruckus going on out there…

One Vulcan practically leapt into the lift, a PADD in one hand and a cast on his other arm. Out in the corridor, most of the various wounded Vulcans lining it were just coming to their feet. Trying to get out of the way of the security officer staggering down the hall toward them…

…he'd been shot. A black charred spot on his left shoulder still smoking slightly, his face contorted in pain.

"Talla! Stop him!" He yelled at her, already stumbling into the wall nearby.

She looked. And saw the Vulcan standing next to her raise the PADD he held…

In an instant of perfect clarity she noted he had one thumb depressing a panel there. Holding it down already when he'd raised the PADD. Still holding it down once it was raised. And something inside her spoke up, drawing her attention with sharp, near painful focus to that. To that very important point.

So as T'Pol, on the far side, reached to subdue the man…she reached for the PADD. To stop that thumb from rising.


	9. Chapter 9

**Alpha Centauri Defense Command Headquarters  
><strong>**Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit**

Hauser folded his arms easily before the view screen, allowing himself to relax just a bit. To be honest, he was a little relieved. Despite the fact that the _Enterprise _was just passing through, it was good to have them in-system for however long.

With some to the things _they'd _pulled off, it wouldn't surprise him if the Romulans just gave up and went home. If the shoe were on the other foot, and _he _heard the _Enterprise _was seen flying around in the system _he _was about to invade…he'd probably be tempted to turn around and go home himself.

"Archer. Good to hear from you." Hauser said. "Wish you were sticking around."

On screen the man commanding the _Enterprise _nodded grimly.

"From what I hear we're expecting at Vulcan," Archer said. "I kind of wish we were sticking around, too. It looks like it's going to turn into quite a fight out there."

"I understand the Andorians will have their fleet on the scene by the time you arrive." Hauser said. "I think that puts the count there at almost fifty ships, Archer. I have to wonder what intel we've got that suggests we need that level of response."

Archer frowned, troubled. "I can't go into the details but Starfleet Intelligence confirms the Romulans have mobilized in a massive way. They're throwing everything they've got into this."

"And no one has any idea _why_?" Hauser asked, perplexed. "This is coming completely out of the blue. Starfleet issued an ultimatum _months _ago that didn't have any real teeth behind it, so I can't imagine they're afraid we're going to move in force against _them_. This can't be some kind of preemptive strike."

Archer hesitated. "Hauser…just between you and me…from what I'm hearing we may have simply underestimated who we're dealing with out there. Or maybe just misunderstood. We've always assumed we were dealing with pirates. Something like the Orions, with their slave trade. But…there may be more to these people than we thought."

"Well, I kind of figured that." Hauser nodded. "You don't see the Orions fielding fleets and invading Vulcan."

"I guess this really shouldn't come as so much of a surprise." Archer said, shaking his head. "With the Coalition forming and finally starting to get organized, we should have expected someone would make their move while they still could. To be honest, I've been watching the Klingons pretty closely the last few months."

Hauser shrugged. "Well, from what I hear they can't decide whether to be irritated or happy they've got someone worth fighting. I expect we'll see action with the Klingons on a pretty regular basis from here out, just for the fun of it. But I can't see them waging an all out war with the Coalition without a helluva a reason. They love a good fight but they're not stupid about it."

"Well, I knew _something _was coming." Archer said. "I never expected it would be the Romulans, though."

"No one did." Hauser said, musing. "Which…makes me a little uneasy, Archer."

"Feels a little like they _wanted _to be underestimated, doesn't it?"

"Exactly right." Hauser frowned. "And considering what we've got going on planet-side in just about every major system throughout the Coalition…we underestimated them in a big way."

"I know we've suffered at least a dozen surprise attacks on Earth." Archer said. "And Vulcan…it's chaos there, Colonel. Half the ministry has come under attack, four of them assassinated that we know of. Every major city has seen some kind of terrorist strike. They even had a couple of suicide bombers hit Mt. Seleya."

"We haven't had it quite that bad on Proxima." Hauser frowned back. "Couple of bombs, a few civilian causalities. And while that's bad enough, they seem to have cut us some slack compared to everyone else. I can't imagine why but…"

Hauser's eyes narrowed, considering what he'd just said. And Archer seemed to have caught up as well.

"Hauser," Archer said. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid here, and I don't want to tell you your business, but…now that you mention it, that's makes _me _a little uneasy."

"Kind of like they didn't want to draw attention to Proxima." Hauser suggested.

Archer nodded. "That does seem to fit what we've seen from them so far."

Hauser nodded, thinking. "Yeah, you're right. And damn, I shouldn't have let myself accept that, considering the reports I've read. Not that there's much I can do about it. I'm system defense. I don't have a lot of pull ground-side."

"I'll see what I can do about shaking up the local parliament there, if that helps." Archer suggested. "Let's hope they're really not up to something on Proxima. But I guess your main concern is that second fleet heading your way. And come to think of it, _that_ might be what they're trying to keep attention away from. How do you stand there?"

Hauser snorted. "Well, like I said, I wish you were sticking around. I'm basically working with a conscripted civilian fleet here. I know UES is technically Starfleet, but they really are just a bunch of scientists and surveyors when you get right down to it. There are a lot of them, sixteen in fact, and they know how to fight but…they're not Starfleet and they're not military. I've got _Rodger Young _leading the pack, with the _Griffon _and _Empress _as outriders. Both are Neptunes. We don't expect to see _Discovery _for another full day but at least I'll have one solid NX-class in the field before Rommie gets to town."

"I've heard good things about the Daedalus, Colonel. _Rodger Young _too, for that matter."

"Yeah, but that's one ugly ship, Archer." Hauser snorted.

Archer chuckled. "You've still got the _Tempest _and _Kolinahr _though, don't you?"

"Not exactly. _Kolinahr _bugged out about fifteen minutes ago." Hauser scowled. "Still trying to get comm with them but they're not answering."

"Bugged out?" Archer asked, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"Tucker was leading them in and they just altered course out of the blue." Hauser said. "They're outbound for Vulcan at warp seven right now. Trip's on the line with _Rodger Young_, coordinating with their tac, so I haven't got the full story there yet."

"I don't believe it." Archer scowled now. "I'm tempted to say you're better off. We went through about four different Vulcan babysitters our first year out. They didn't manage anything more than to get in our way and slow us down. But you need every ship you can get here. And the _Kolinahr _does have a good reputation…"

He shook his head, confused. "I can't imagine why they'd run off like that, Hauser. I don't get it."

"There's a lot going on behind the scenes here, Archer." Hauser said. "If you haven't picked up on that report about the Vulcan intel team Tucker's bringing in…you might want to give it a look. The _Kolinahr _was in the middle of something pretty fishy out here when Tucker stumbled into it."

"How's he doing, Colonel?" Archer asked, suddenly. "I know he never really wanted a command in the first place. He certainly can't be comfortable with _this_."

"Well, he's done pretty damned good so far." Hauser said. "He took out that Bird of Prey, and got both ships back up and running way ahead of projections. Even his _own _projections."

"Well, that's one thing you can count on at least. Tucker's one of the best engineers Starfleet's got. I really hated losing him."

"You can check in on him yourself soon enough, Archer." Hauser said. "I'm sending the _Tempest _out your way for that resupply. I've got to get Tucker off this station before Coleman arrives, in about twelve hours."

Archer grinned a little. "Yes, I heard you've pulled Coleman. You have my sympathy."

"He's a good officer." Hauser shrugged. "He's just a complete ass. And I can work with that."

"Well, Starfleet was never supposed to be a military organization. But I'm afraid we've continued with _that _fine tradition nonetheless."

"I'm not going to say anything to that, Archer." Hauser said, grinning. "Let me get that fifth star in a couple of years and I'm sure I'll have to put on my asshat, too."

Archer shook his head, ruefully. "I can speak from personal experience, Colonel. It can be hard to avoid."

Hauser shrugged. "Part of the job. But I can keep Coleman focused if Tucker isn't around to get him riled up."

"What about the _Tempest_, Colonel?" Archer asked. "Her systems all in working order?"

"She's fresh off the line, so she's pretty modular." Hauser said. "You can practically toss the engineering team the parts they need and put her right back out. The only real concern would be hull breaches. That's where…"

"No, Colonel. I meant those _systems _she's carrying. The ones we're not supposed to talk about."

"Oh, I see." Hauser said, hesitantly. "Well, we're not supposed to talk about that, are we? But…still, it hasn't exactly been battle tested but Tucker ran some _field _tests on her first run out of system. It seemed to work well enough."

"Is it something you think you'll be able to use?" Archer asked.

"I'm not really sure about that, Archer." Hauser frowned. "It was never intended to be mounted on a frigate. He was supposed to just be testing it. We never really got a chance to refit the _Tempest _either or we would have _pulled _that system. It's a cute little trick and all, but I can't say it's something I'd want to try in an actual battle. As I recall, it didn't do the Romulans a whole lot of good."

"I understand Tucker's expanded on their design quite a bit." Archer argued. "But I was just curious. I know he's put a lot of time and effort into. I suppose I hoped it might be of some use."

"Well, let's hope it is." Hauser said. "But I'd rather slap a better defensive system on the _Tempest_, to be honest. She can dish out a lot of damage but she can't take it so much."

"That new shield system's not working out?" Archer asked.

"No, it works great. Can't wait until we get that installed on _every _Starfleet vessel. But _Tempest _is just a frigate. She packs a hell of a punch but I'd rather she could last a little longer in a stand up fight. Simple as that. But don't get me wrong, either. I've still got her slated to back up the _Rodger Young _as it is."

"She did _that _well against that Bird of Prey, Colonel?"

"Archer…the only reason she got into any trouble is because she was too close to Rommie when he popped." Hauser said. "Tucker was too focused on luring them clear of the _Kolinahr_. Before that…they didn't even scratch the paint. They only took two hits from Rommie and neither one got through at all. You should grab that engagement report and take a look at it. It's an interesting read."

"I'll do that." Archer said, interested. "When can we expect Tucker out here? I'm bringing us in a slower than my orders suggest, but I think we can spare an hour or two. I want to be sure you have enough time to repair the _Tempest_. I don't want to be the reason Trip deployed before he was ready."

"That's not a problem." Hauser denied. "A warp core breach at close range…we're looking at energy dispersal damage. Not a lot of structural damage and even that's easy enough to fix. She'll be ready in eight hours. In time enough to get them _out _of here before Coleman arrives."

"Good." Archer said. "As much as I hate what's coming I'd rather get to Vulcan and be ready when it does. But, to be honest, I won't mind catching up with Trip a little."

Off his shoulder Hauser could sense Simmons had appeared out of thin air, as he was prone to. Standing behind him and to one side, tensely. Waiting. Projecting the need for immediate attention…

Which meant he'd been shooting the breeze with Archer too long and everything was falling apart without him there to hold it together…

"I'll make sure and get him out to you, then." Hauser said. "Looks like I've got a few dozen fires to put out over here though, so I'd better get back to that. But you give 'em hell out there, Captain."

"Count on it." Archer said, firmly. "You do the same, Colonel. _Enterprise _out."

* * *

><p><strong>Rodger Young<br>****Daedalus Class Cruiser (NC-015)**

Captain West stood facing the bridge view screen aboard the _Rodger Young_, still orbiting Proxima. Still on defense.

"So what do you think all of that suggests, Tucker?" He asked.

On the view screen Captain Tucker fretted. "Well, that's the thing. It's all pretty sketchy. The only real engagements we've seen were in Beta Rigel. They've taken the whole system and we've got _colonies _there. That tells me that's where their main fleet is. That and all the hits the Vulcans took in that sector. They've lost something like six or seven ships out there. And then there's all the _other _intel pointing to Vulcan."

"And this intel of _yours _says the same thing." West pointed out. "Main fleet's moving through Beta Rigel and Sculptoris, heading for Vulcan. And the Romulans have always had a hard on for Vulcans anyway. Intel's been saying for a long time that those two have some kind of history. Something they don't want to talk about. Something personal."

"But I can't get around the fact that they just dropped this on us." Tucker argued. "I stood here and watched one single Vulcan agent crack that code all by herself in less than two minutes. They might as well have just emailed their battle plans to Starfleet Command."

"Well, okay. I've got to admit that sure sounds like something Rommie would pull." West admitted. "But then again, I can see them doing this and expecting we'll see right through it. So that we withdraw some of our forces from Vulcan and pull them back here, just in case. Working that diversion angle."

"Yeah, but do they even think we're smart enough for that?" Tucker asked. "From what I gather, they're pretty arrogant. I don't think they'd drop their _real _plans on us, expecting we'd think it's a trick and try to second guess them. I really think they'd give us some basic misinformation. Because they think we're idiots and we'll fall for it."

"I don't know, Tucker." West frowned. "Sounds like we're second guessing them right now."

"No. Take a look at this, West." Tucker said, holding up the framed picture. "It's a _cartoon_, for crying out loud. And I can just see some Romulan intel guy thinking this is real funny, can't you? Fox and hound, right? They're the quick fox and we're the dumb, lazy hound. You can't tell me they aren't plain making a joke of us with this whole thing."

"So their plan is to _trick _us into thinking their main fleet is moving for Vulcan?" West asked. "While they move through…where, here? That would put them going after Earth, Tucker."

"If you were Rommie, isn't that what _you _would do?" Tucker asked. Then spoke again quickly, when he saw West about to argue. "Think about it, West. If you put your fleet up against Vulcan, you're lining up against Vulcans, Humans and Andorians. All of them. They're all right there. The Tellarites, too, once they get moving. But if you come at the Coalition from the core, up through Centauri, you're practically behind enemy lines already. Once you get past Centauri, you've got Sol system right there in front of you with nothing in your way. And if you take Sol…"

West got the point, as much as he didn't like it.

"Yeah." West agreed. "Then you've got a nice front line that puts one of the chief Coalition members under your thumb right away."

"And if they can cut off Earth then the Coalition might just fall apart before the war even gets going, West." Tucker said, frowning. "No one's going to follow the Vulcans if we're out of the picture. Andoria will probably come charging in to try to save the day but no one would follow _them _in, either. They're too paranoid to want anyone to anyway. Not to mention all these terrorist attacks they're pulling off everywhere. That says a lot about how much influence they have in our own backyard."

Captain West thought that over for a minute. Because, damned if it didn't make sense.

"So they drop this in your lap, just to reinforce the notion that the main fleet is heading for Vulcan." He said. "While it's really the other way around. Have I got this right?"

"I'm just about certain of it." Tucker said. "It makes sense strategically and it's just their style."

West rubbed his chin with one hand, anxiously. "Tucker…if you're right…and I guess you are…then we're in serious trouble here."

"We have no idea how many ships a Romulan diversionary fleet would field." Tucker said. "But whatever it is, I expected we'd have trouble dealing with even that. We can't take a real invasion fleet moving through Centauri, West. They'll run right over us. And walk into Sol system before anyone can stop them. Hell, they'll just be sitting there, dug in, by the time Starfleet pulls out of Vulcan and gets back home."

West didn't want to say it…but he suspected Tucker hadn't thought that far, so…

"Tucker…you do realize what that would mean for Earth, don't you?" He asked.

"That we'd better all start taking Romulan language classes or something, yeah…"

"No. Tucker." West said. "If that's their plan, splitting the Coalition like that, then they need Starfleet out of commission quick. And that means putting _Earth _out of commission. Before we can roll back into the system and fight them for it."

Tucker was listening. Because, no, he hadn't quite thought that far ahead, apparently.

"Tucker, they'll nuke Earth 'til it glows." West said. "Hell, they don't even have to do _that_. From orbit, with no opposition topside, you can just drop rocks on a planet for a few days and damned near wipe out the population. It's easy as hell to kill from orbit. Tucker…damn it, man…_that's _their plan. It's got to be. They don't care about holding Sol any longer than it takes them to kill Earth and every Starfleet facility in the system."

"Jesus, West." Tucker breathed. "That can't be right. Even the Romulans must have some limits…"

West shook his head, convinced he _was _right.

"Tucker, we've both seen them slaughter civilians like it was going out of style." He argued. "Do you really think they'll go through all this trouble without at the very _least _making sure Earth is no longer a…"

"_Security alert. Deck B, forward. Security officers, man your stations."_

West startled slightly at first…until he realized that had been on board _Tucker's _ship, not his…

"Gotta go, West." Tucker said. And the screen went blank just that quick.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Tulok had found the Human Tactical Officer's company refreshing and engaging. Once his paranoia had been somewhat put to rest.

"Hold on." Benning said. "You're telling me you were there? In the Forge, when the whole thing went down?"

"Indeed." Tulok affirmed. "We were one of two units charged with investigating the bombing of the embassy. Specifically with infiltrating whatever organization was determined to be responsible."

"The Syrranites?" Benning asked, surprised. "How did you go about it?"

"Not quite." Tulok said. "At that time, though the Syrannites were considered the primary suspects in the bombing, Commander T'Pol was excused from pursuing that line of investigation. For personal reasons. We were assigned to investigate…another avenue. But the Commander's logic lead her to disobey the orders of our superiors and we entered the Forge on our own initiative. That is when we came into conflict with the team assigned to that duty in our place and encountered Captain Archer."

"I heard about that." Benning said, nodding. "I can't believe you're the same team that…"

But Tulok had lost track of the conversation by then. Because he'd noticed the man standing in line outside the brig, waiting for his turn to be examined and identified by ship security.

The cast on his arm was red, not white. Which would indicate he'd been treated for his injury aboard the _Kolinahr_. Which called into question why he'd been evacuated to the _Tempest _in the first place. He did not appear to have suffered any other injury that would have justified that.

"Excuse me, Commander." Tulok said, stepping around the Human, who was still speaking to him.

Tulok moved through the door of the brig, out into the corridor leading onward to medical, and beyond to the lift. He nodded acknowledgement of those he recognized standing in line, though they were few. Until he reached the man in line who'd drawn his attention.

"Excuse me, Crewman." Tulok said, as he pulled alongside and turned to face the man. "I noticed your cast. You received medical treatment aboard the _Kolinahr, _did you not?"

The Crewman looked back. And Tulok could see that he was…anxious. "That is correct. I was injured when gravitational plating along forward deck C2..."

"You were not present in engineering during the explosion?" Tulok interrupted, raising his eyebrow to indicate curiosity. "I see that your hands are stained with dilithium resin, as is common to engineering personnel. Despite your having removed your duty jacket, you are clearly an engineer."

The man stared back. And grew more anxious. Enough that subtle cues were beginning to border outward expression.

"I was not present during the explosion." He said. "At the time, I was fortunate enough to be on Deck C2. As I have already said."

"I suspect this was intentional rather than fortunate." Tulok said. "In order that you might avoid the explosion, which you expected to occur."

"If you have concerns regarding my actions, Major, I have my orders here." The man said, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "You may review them if you wish. They will answer your questions sufficiently."

"Very well." Tulok said, nodding slightly. Not taking his eyes off the man, letting his peripheral vision identify what exactly he was pulling from his pocket.

Producing a PADD, the Crewman tapped one panel on the surface with his thumb. But did not release it. Or offer the PADD for review.

"If I release my thumb from the PADD," The Crewman said. "It will detonate the explosive device I am carrying. Everyone in this corridor will be killed."

Tulok considered the new situation for a moment.

"I see." He said. "And what do you require?"

Commander Benning arrived then. With another security officer at his side.

"What's going on here, Tulok?" Benning asked, looking suspiciously over the Vulcan holding the PADD in front of him.

"The Crewman here is in possession of an explosive device." Tulok said, not taking his eyes from the man. "I am attempting to determine his demands."

Phase pistols appeared immediately, pointing quite aggressively at the Crewman in question. And the Humans began shouting.

"Drop it!" Benning yelled, shifting easily into a steady shooter's stance. "Or I will burned your damned face off!"

"Commander." Tulok said, patiently. "That would not be wise…"

A flash of crimson red appeared before his eyes. Appearing and gone fast enough that Tulok almost _didn't _immediately recognize the phaser beam that had just blasted past his nose. It struck the security officer at Benning's side though, as it would seem the Commander had noticed the _second _Vulcan farther down the line preparing to fire at him. And, so, dodged the shot.

Tulok moved forward immediately, both to shoulder the Vulcan in front of him into the wall and to get himself out of the line of fire. And in the ensuing scuffle, with phase weapon fire exchanged up and down the length of the corridor only inches away, he lost his grip on the man. And he broke free and fled.

"Security alert! Deck B, forward!" Benning yelled, somewhere behind him.

As Tulok recovered himself and took to his feet to pursue the man, he was almost startled to find the Human security officer pursuing before him. Not Commander Benning, but rather…the very security officer who'd just been shot.

Which was quite fascinating, the resolve that illustrated.

"_Security alert. Deck B, forward. Security officers, man your stations."_

All around them, hampering their attempts to get down the corridor and capture the man, the various wounded Vulcans attempted to get out of the way. Which, naturally, served entirely the opposite purpose.

Still, to their credit, several immediately overwhelmed and rendered unconscious the Vulcan crewman who'd fired on the Human. Tulok found himself illogically gratified to see that one on the ground, being held in place already by no less than three gravely wounded Vulcans. Displaying significant resolve of their own, considering their injuries.

"Talla! Stop him!" The Human ahead of him yelled, with a groan. Already he stumbled and fell against the wall, among the many Vulcans _still _trying as best they could to clear a path.

Finally, with that act, the wounded security officer somehow managed to clear the corridor. And the way was open for Tulok to charge unhindered down its length. To the lift, where Commander T'Pol and the Andorian engineer were now engaged with the man.

But, despite his own resolve and all the strength he poured into getting there as quickly as he could…the doors to the lift had already closed before he got there. And he slammed into them, full force.

Grimacing and slapping one hand on the flat surface of the door. In an entirely un-Vulcan display of frustration.


	10. Chapter 10

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Trip was out the door and into the corridor in a heartbeat. He reached the lift at the end of the hall before he realized…he was being pretty stupid.

Ship captains don't go running down the halls looking for trouble every time there's a security alert. That was the sort of thing Archer would have done. And hadn't that always bugged him? How the heck Jonathan had stayed alive and in one piece putting himself in the middle of things like he had, still after all these years…

…but he hit the call button anyway. Didn't even really think of _not _doing so. Because his ship was in trouble. And his crew. And it was pretty funny how he was starting to _get _it now.

Sit up on the bridge and wait for security to report back? After everything he'd just dragged this ship through over the last couple of days? Yeah, we're not going to do that. _Should _do it, sure. Of course. But…nope.

The lift opened and he stepped inside.

Or almost. He nearly stumbled and fell on top of everyone in there before he could stop himself.

There were aliens wrestling in the lift. And damned if that wasn't something you just don't see every day…

Commander T'Pol was laying on the floor there, with some Vulcan guy on top of her…in a _headlock_, no less…and Talla was laying back on top of _him_, both hands wrapped around whatever he was holding out…like a weird little alien double-stuffed cookie wriggling around on the floor of the lift. Wrestling over who gets to be the creamy filling in the middle.

"What the hell?" Trip said, startled. "What's going on in here?"

"_He's got a bomb!" _Talla grunted, both hands wrapped around one of the Vulcan Crewman's hands.

Now, Trip's first impulse was to run. Just turn around and start running. Because that's what normal, well adjusted and otherwise sane people do when someone says something like, 'He's got a bomb.'

But there was that thing about his ship being in trouble and how he wasn't supposed to allow that. So his left hand was still on track with that idea, and had missed the part about how the bomb might blow up and kill him. It reached down to his side and plucked the engineering scanner from there, bringing it up and ready. So it'd be handy when he caught up with things and decided he'd better do something about all this. Instead of running off in a panic like one of those normal people would do.

After the requisite moment of confused gawking, Trip wanted his scanner. And since it was there, waiting for him, he went to work.

"What happened?" He demanded, already cycling through various frequencies, trying to find the bomb and figure out that thing about not letting it blow up.

"I don't know." T'Pol said, her teeth gritted and her voice tense, still wrestling the Vulcan Crewman. "He has a PADD, which your Andorian officer believes may…"

"Right. Got it." Trip said, focused. Peering intently at his scanner. "On his arm? Dilithium resin, isopropanol...some organic compounds…"

Trip scanned the situation again, visually now.

"We don't have a damned bomb squad here…" He said, his eyes wide, rubbing his chin quickly and fretfully. Thinking out loud.

"Is the PADD transmitting?" T'Pol demanded, sharply.

"No, it's not." Trip snapped back, stepping forward into the lift. "We've got to get this guy…"

"Remove the power cell." She said, staring up at him.

Trip was dropping down on his knees in only a moment, getting the point right away. To hell with what the bomb was made of right now. Just keep whatever signal Talla was holding up from being transmitted…but he couldn't get to it, though. Because it had three separate hands wrapped around it.

So…he slapped one hand to his belt, to retrieve the tool he needed. Which wasn't there, of course. He was the Captain, not the engineer around here. _Talla _was the engineer…so he reached and snatched it from _her _belt instead.

Grabbing that bundle of hands being held out there, he held it firmly in place with a hand of his own. Then jabbed the sharp tip of the flux coupler in between all those fingers…piercing the transmitter cover there and jerking the tip around inside just so. Because a good engineer knew how to _break _things, too.

"Got it." Trip said, sharply. "Talla, get the hell out of here. You _hold him_, T'Pol!"

"I have him." She said calmly, bringing down the one hand that held her forearm across his throat. Pinching at his shoulder with it, while the man tensed and struggled all the more.

As Trip reached and pulled Talla clear, leaving her to stumbled forward out of the lift…_something _was going on there between the two Vulcans. T'Pol had her fingers dug in at his shoulder and…they were struggling in some way he couldn't quite figure out. He could _sense _it, but he couldn't see exactly what…

Then the Vulcan's eyes started rolling back in his head…and he began fitfully and desperately slamming the cast on his arm against the floor of the lift.

Trying to remain conscious, Trip thought at first. Or expressing his outrage at Commander T'Pol rendering him unconscious, however the heck she was doing that…

But, no.

No, that _wasn't _what he was doing…

Trip reached out to grab the man's arm without thinking, to stop him. Flailing at the air awkwardly for a moment when he missed. That arm slamming the cast it was wrapped in down forcefully to the floor yet again. So he changed tactics, swung _down _instead, and grabbed the Vulcan intel agent's knee. Dropped his scanner and slapped another hand on there for a good, solid grip on her calf. And _pulled_, throwing all his weight behind him, scrambling back. Dragging her from under the man to where he could reach her better, then grabbing the front of her uniform with both hands…

And Talla was there, reaching over him to grab and pull, too. Because she got it. She'd heard what he'd said before. Dilithium resin…

T'Pol, thankfully, seemed to catch on that they were trying to get her the hell out of there. Because she finally let go of the guy. And with that, no longer held up by his additional weight, they had her pulled free.

And laying back on the floor now, with the Vulcan laying on top of him and Talla sprawled in an awkward heap across them both, Trip yanked back one foot and kicked out high. Impacting the lift call panel.

Hoping he hit the right button…because he couldn't see over the damned Vulcan's head…

Almost too late. Just almost.

Something sizzled viciously inside the lift. And flashed, brightly enough that he could _feel _it glare all around him.

Then the lift door closed.

* * *

><p>Commander Benning slammed into the door right behind Tulok. And his frustrated, open-palmed strike on the stubborn surface of the door was even more expressive than Tulok's. He even verbalized it as well.<p>

"Damn it!" Benning yelled. And struck the lift door again with his fist, just to be certain he expressed himself properly.

"Commander T'Pol and your Andorian engineer are on the lift…" Tulok began.

Benning had already spun around, however.

"Feldman!" He yelled, back down the corridor. "Seal off Deck A, forward! Notify the bridge!"

The Human officer stalked back toward the brig, thrusting a single violent finger at the unconscious Vulcan on the floor. The one beneath the pile of injured Vulcans sitting on top of him.

"Carver, get that son of a bitch in the cell." He ordered. "Search him…hell, _strip _him. And get the Vulcan girl out of there."

"_Bridge to Benning."_

Benning tapped at his belt. "Benning! Song, seal the bridge! You've got a bomb in the lift, headed your way!"

"_It's done. I've sealed off the whole deck but the Captain's in the conference room. What the hell's going on down there?"_

"One of the _Kolinahr _crew had a damned bomb!" Benning snapped. "I don't know how he got past security but he's headed your way. And he's got Talla in the lift with him. And the Vulcan agent, T'Pol. We have a second man in custody down here as well."

"_I'm sending a…"_

Something _thumped_.

Hard.

"_Alert. Explosion detected, forward lift shaft."_

"Son of a _bitch_!" Benning snapped, teeth grinding, stomping quickly back to the lift. As if there were anything he could do about any of it now…

"_Alert. Contamination detected, forward lift shaft. Emergency quarantine."_

Benning stopped.

It took a split second for all the implications to fall into place there. Then he grabbed Tulok and start pulling…spinning and heaving him past him down the corridor, away from the lift…then staggering and leaping clumsily forward himself.

Before the bulkhead sealed _him _off in there, instead of the Vulcan.

When he hit the ground, he had to be quick to jerk his feet out of the way. And looking down across the floor where he lay, to be _sure _his feet were out of the way, he could see the two wounded Vulcan crewman there. Still on the other side of the bulkhead.

And he could see their eyes as they looked back from where they sat. Backs against the wall. A head wound bandaged on one of them. The other sporting a chest wound, not even wearing a shirt. Just a big, bulky and green-stained dressing across his chest.

But he could see them for that split second before the bulkhead slammed shut. See in their eyes that they _almost _understood what had just happened to them. That they probably wouldn't fully realize until after they were sealed away behind that bulkhead.

Benning already had a few images like that in his head. Things that stuck with him, even after many years in a few cases. Things that woke him up in the middle of the night. Or lay there in the bed, hidden until he lay down with them to sleep. Jumping on him the moment he did to torment him.

He sure as hell didn't need another one. Not that it really mattered. He had plenty enough already. But, still. He could have done without one more.

* * *

><p>T'Pol blinked rapidly for a moment. Something was wrong with her vision. Until she realized her inner eyelid had slid into place, an autonomic reaction to the sudden flare that had lit the air for a moment. Flicking it back out of the way, she glanced around, moving only her head. Assessing herself cognitively for injury, as she was certain she must have been burned somewhere…she could <em>smell <em>it…

Everything shifted suddenly, slightly, with a loud thump from somewhere behind her and below…

"_Alert. Explosion detected, forward lift shaft."_

But she was buried beneath an Andorian, whose stomach lay across the back of her head. And the Human, Tucker, laid out fully along her body beneath her.

It was remarkably cool and comfortable there. And yet, of course, entirely unacceptable. So she _lifted _up onto her hands and knees, forcing the Andorian to scramble _off _her.

Tucker was still beneath, lifting his head to look wide-eyed past her arm at the door behind them.

"Son of a bitch…" He muttered.

"_Alert. Contamination detected, forward lift shaft. Emergency quarantine."_

His eyes widened. And he grabbed her arm. Partly to get it out of his way as he rolled to his stomach. Partly, it would seem, in the vain attempt to compel her off-balance away from the lift…

"Captain!" The Andorian called out, from where she scrambled to her feet herself, near at hand.

"Go! Get clear! _Go!" _He said, already starting to crawl rapidly forward, trying to get to his hands and knees in the process.

T'Pol got the general idea quickly enough. So she brought her feet up behind her, bending her knees, leaping forward and rolling out of their way. Then reaching back blindly to grab the first body part that came in range, to help pull someone clear of…whatever they were all trying to get clear of…

She had Tucker's hand for a moment. Then the Andorian tripped and fell across her arm. So she flexed with all her Vulcan strength, to send that one across her, over and out of the way beyond her. Seeing the bulkhead whisking shut forcefully, threatening to snatch the Captain's leg in its jaws, she whipped that hand back again to help him pull it clear…

And it shut firm with a slight 'shick'. Somehow, miraculously, without claiming any gangly extremities in the process. Despite how utterly uncoordinated the entire exercise had been.

Everyone lay still for a moment. To be _sure _they'd somehow survived the last few seconds.

"What happened?" T'Pol asked then. Once she thought she'd given the other two time enough to adjust to the situation.

"Dilithium resin." Tucker said, already rolling over again to get back on his hands and knees. "It's toxic. Especially when you _detonate it!"_

He slammed one balled fist down onto the floor, to emphasize that point. Pausing in his attempt to gain his footing in order to do so.

It was fascinating how quickly these Humans could process and express their emotions. Were she any less disciplined, she was certain she would still be processing the event. Still in shock.

The Andorian rose as well, though from the look on her face she hadn't yet determined what her own emotional reaction would be…

There were voices and movement down the corridor suddenly, so T'Pol tilted her head back to look, seeing Commander Song and two other Humans she didn't recognize exiting the bridge there. And realizing then that, of the three, she was the only one who had yet to regain her footing. So she moved quickly to rectify that.

"Captain? You okay?" Song asked anxiously, as she approached.

As she rose to her feet again, T'Pol saw Tucker nod. Not answering the question verbally. Staring at her instead, frowning. For several seconds.

"Yeah." He breathed, finally. "We're okay. It went off between decks, I think."

"Benning's down in the brig…" Song started to say.

"Don't breach containment." Tucker said, quickly. "Let Celestial deal with it. Keep that whole shaft sealed off. We have another lift, so everyone goes the long way. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Song nodded. Looking past him at the sealed bulkhead. Where a friendly little hologram display warned everyone that going beyond that point was a very bad idea.

"Bioweapon, Captain?" She asked.

Tucker shook his head again. "No. Not really. Dilithium resin. He had to _smack it _to set it off or it would have been a hell of a lot worse. It's still toxic, either way, though."

He pushed off from the wall, frowning, and turned back to them.

"You two okay?" He asked.

T'Pol nodded. Of course.

The Andorian nearly spit, though. "I'm fine. Who _was _that? And what did you do to piss them off, Captain?"

Tucker was staring at _her _again, though. As if waiting for something…

"Commander." He said, pointing. "You _sure _you're okay? 'Cause your leg's on fire."

She looked down. And, as he'd suggested, there was a small flame struggling there at the cuff of her pant leg. Doing its best to gnaw at the flame-resistant material it was forced to deal with. Feeble enough that simply raising her ankle to reach the flame and snuff it out was effective enough.

Then the Andorian started laughing. Which was odd.

So T'Pol turned to look at her, hoping for some clue as to what had prompted her hysteria.

"That's very funny." Talla said, still laughing lightly. As if that explained her behavior.

The Captain just snorted. Shaking his head.

But Commander Song grinned openly. "Damn, Talla." She said. "If I knew that's all it took to get you to laugh, I'd have set somebody's pants on fire a long time ago…"

"Song." Tucker snapped, suddenly. "Are we docked with the damned station yet?"

And that surprised T'Pol. Because he was clearly very angry.

"Uh…yes, sir." Song said. "I'd have called and told you but…"

She gestured toward the lift. But, you know, all _that _happened.

"Good." He said, his shoulders tense. "Get security stationed up at the other lift and down the starboard corridor. Then I want every damned Vulcan on this ship the _hell off. _All of them. Right now."

Captain Tucker began moving for the bridge then, sparing T'Pol only a fierce glare before doing so.

"Stun 'em and drag 'em if you have to. I don't care." He said, as he passed them all by. "Then you get _our _people off and the station crew _on_. Get those repairs started. I want this _over with_. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Song said, a little uneasily. As she watched him disappear onto the bridge and out of sight.

T'Pol watched him, too. And she considered whether she should do something about the irrational reaction the Captain was having to the situation. She knew instantly that it would be illogical to do so. He undoubtedly blamed her people for what had occurred. Therefore, for _her _to intervene and attempt to elicit reason could be expected only to exacerbate the situation.

But since she found herself already moving to catch up and do precisely that, she decided it was then logical to proceed, hoping for the best. To stop suddenly, after so obviously chasing after the man, would be…awkward.

"Captain Tucker." She said, once she'd drawn within range of speaking. On the bridge of the ship, where she was immediately distracted by the completely unexpected layout of the place.

There were no less than three large view screens on the forward wall. Each seemingly integrated with holographic components around the perimeter of the screens. Apparently to provide an alternate three-dimensional view…in fact, in order to project it into the center of the room.

The consoles of the various stations around the bridge likewise appeared to enjoy holographic technology, with the same setup as the display table in the conference room. All of them displaying controls that, as they were worked by the bridge crew in attendance at the moment, appeared to be holographic projections as well. _Solid _holographic projections, as in the conference room earlier. Several of them shifted as she watched, certain portions either spinning in place to reveal another set of controls or simply changing their shape entirely…

And before the Captain's chair, yet another console. Where a console of any sort was not normally to be found. The same as the others but much broader and longer. Obviously intended to display a wide variety of data and provide even greater options.

And other rainbow surfaces could be seen, dotted all around the bridge. With holographic projectors and various other implements she didn't recognize. Between consoles, in various place on the walls…even on the ceiling, and here and there on the floor…

"What?" Tucker snapped.

T'Pol blinked a couple of times. "Excuse me." She said. "I was…"

"Sorry, you need me to wait a minute?" He said, angrily. Stepping toward her. Aggressively. "Let you snap a few pictures? Let's never mind about how you aren't cleared to _be _on the bridge, Commander."

"Excuse me, Captain. I was…" T'Pol tried again.

"No! By all means. Go right ahead." Tucker continued. Still moving toward her. "Have a seat in the Captain's chair. In fact, go ahead and take over here. Maybe we can go find some more terrorists so they can blow up the ship. That sounds like fun."

She decided then not to speak further. It seemed to serve only to provoke him so far. And, as she would have predicted, he said nothing right away. Waiting for her to speak, so that he could respond aggressively again.

She waited then. Until _he _was forced to speak first.

"Well?" He demanded.

"I have done nothing to deserve your hostility, Captain." She said, flatly. "If you feel you must express it, then you should do so elsewhere."

"Oh! You've done nothing!" He said, gesturing extravagantly. "Not a thing! You know how long I've been Captain of this ship, Commander?"

"Five months and twelve days." She said.

Interestingly, that surprised him for some reason.

"That's…right." He stumbled. "And…do you know how many times this ship has been in a fight in all that time? Once. One time! If it even counts, because we didn't even fire a shot! We rolled in while some Orions were trying to raid a freighter, they fired wildly off our port and they warped away. That was it! Guess how many times we've had someone _plant a bomb_ on my ship, Commander!"

"I would assume…"

"That's right. Not once." He said. "Not a single time. And we've had exactly _one _security alert around here. Not counting drills, of course. And you know _why _we had that security alert? Because a wire shorted in the alert system, Commander, _that's _why."

And that was it. Oddly enough. He folded his arms and glared at her. Seemingly having satisfied his anger already.

She'd expected he'd go on for a while longer. He was Human and they did tend to drone on when they were angry. But still, she was hesitant to speak now. Somehow certain that if she did, he'd simply interrupt her again.

But she opened her mouth to do so nonetheless…

And he interrupted her.

"You know how many men I've lost under my command?" He said, simply. Not angrily, as before.

"No. I do not." She said, suppressing frustration.

"Twelve." He said. "All in the last two days. Since _you _came on the scene. And not just you, don't get me wrong. _All _you people. That's twelve crewmen. Most of them with families back home. Some of them were married. Some had children."

She wasn't sure what to say about that. But he said nothing further.

"Captain," She said, calmly. "I am not responsible for that. Nor my people. The Romulans are to blame here."

"The same Romulans that are headed for Earth right now!" Trip snapped. "Heading through Centauri to get there, Commander."

"Yes, precisely." She said, still calm. "They are targeting Earth, not Vulcan. It is not logical to blame my people for this situation, Captain."

"Are…are you saying we brought this on _ourselves_?" Trip said, incredulously.

"No, of course not." She said. "You are being emotional. The Romulans remain responsible for their own actions. But you can in no way lay the blame for their aggression on Vulcan or the Vulcan people. No more than I could reasonably blame Earth or Humans. The Romulan people remain entirely responsible for what they do. And all the things you have noted have resulted from _their _choices. Not ours, nor yours."

T'Pol noticed, with some small surprise, that he was listening to her. Not waiting for an opportunity to have an emotional outburst, but actually considering what she was saying. So she continued.

"I understand the past two days have been stressful." She said. "And feeling responsible for this ship and her crew, then it has been all the more so for you. But you should not allow emotion to rule you, nor impact command decisions…"

"You're right." He said. Again surprising her.

He let out a long breath, relaxing somewhat.

"You're right." He said, again. "That wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

And…

…she had no idea what to say now. She'd never actually elicited reason from a Human before. And she realized then…she'd always assumed that wasn't entirely possible.

So she nodded slightly. And that was all.

The Human, Charles, ran one hand through his hair. Then lay that same hand across his eyes for a moment. And smiled slightly beneath it.

Snorting lightly. As if he were laughing at himself a little.

Then dropped his hand to look at her again. Still with a slight smile.

She was rather profoundly struck by that. The long series of very casual emotional expressions, all executed in so short a time. And moreover, that she perceived all of them and understood what they were intended to convey.

"Sorry." He said, yet again. "It _has _been a rough couple of days. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Or any of your people."

"I understand." She said. And was surprised at _herself_ now.

Of course, she _did _understand…but she hadn't _decided _to say that. It was nearly unconscious, elicited from her by those same emotional expressions he'd projected. Intended in part, she knew, to provoke empathy from her. And all without him likely being aware of it.

Fascinating indeed.

She wondered vaguely why no one among her people had ever studied Human behavior and psychology to any significant depth. Surely one could write entire books and theses on nothing more than the most casual interactions…

"Look, let's…get back to Song." He suggested. "Get your people off the ship and over to medical. And we've still got to report in to Hauser…"

"Of course." She said. "I will have Tulok and T'Lea work with your security officers. I expect it will go much more smoothly with their aid."

"Sounds good." Tucker said, nodding. "And thanks."

And he walked back the way they'd coming, clearly expecting her to follow. Which she did, because she was, of course, distracted. Confronted with the knowledge that her understanding of Human behavior was still quite lacking.

She had no idea what he was expressing gratitude for. She'd been entirely logical throughout their exchange. One did not express gratitude for that. Or at all, if one wished to behave appropriately.


	11. Chapter 11

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Commander Song swept the console before her, giving it a second to confirm her identity before calling up a status overview. With a few tweaks here and there she had a roughly accurate idea of what was going on in and around the Tempest.

Benning and his boys were carefully escorting the last of the Vulcan wounded into the waiting arms of Celestial's 404th Medical Detachment. And she suffered a twinge of empathetic pain for all involved there. Celestial's Medical was practically a training ground for MACO medics and such. The facility was outfitted to deal with large numbers of incoming wounded, of course, sitting on the relative border this side of Human space like they were. The personnel didn't have any actual experience at it, though. And the Vulcans, tough as they may have proven to be, had suffered a lot. They'd lost quite a few of them just getting here.

Over the station security monitors, she could see Shran was off the ship already, leading in the first team of station engineers. A _huge _team, Song noticed. So Hauser really was throwing everything he could at _Tempest _to get her out of the way. She didn't have the sound on the security feed turned on but Song could tell that Talla was being pretty loud and hostile with them. She could only imagine the hell the _Tempest's _Chief Engineer must be putting those poor guys through, before they even stepped foot on the ship.

Flight, Comm and Sensors didn't have much of a crew to begin with but they were already leading their combined handful of officers and maybe a dozen crewmen off the ship. Of the lot of them, they were probably the only ones who'd get a real break before they rolled out again.

Song allowed herself to watch them dither a moment in the reception area out on the station. She was just wasting time doing so, but she was curious. Crenshaw was still at his bridge post to her left, but Sabrina Judge, his second, was out there. She watched Judge and Steel chat for a second or two before running their Crewmen off. Then Steel broke away and headed right for the public comms. To her surprise though, Judge and Roger Million, second Flight, strolled on over to the bar nearby. Now _that _was interesting.

She had the opportunity to reflect that being a Command officer sucked sometimes. She could use drink herself right now. And some nice company in the course of that would not be unwelcome.

Of course, a _nap _would be pretty great, too.

Which reminded her…

"Eckerd." She said, glancing over at the science station.

"Hm? Ma'am?" The Lieutenant startled. Whether because he was tired and spaced out or really was that deeply engrossed in his work, she couldn't tell.

"Why don't you go ahead and log out?" She said. "I've got science here, I'll take over. Go on out to Celestial and give your family a call."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, already stumbling out of his station. "Are you going to call your parents? They're on Proxima, aren't they?"

"Uh, yeah." She nodded. "Just go take a break while you can, Bryan. You can crash in the conference room when you get back, if you like."

She remembered Crenshaw then, too. And turned to him.

"Same for you, Ed. I think you've been at that station for something like twelve hours now, haven't you?"

"Off and on. Something like that." He said, rubbing his face tiredly. "I think I lost track of time a few hours ago. But then I can't really be sure."

Song grinned. "Right. Go hit your bunk, Ed. I'll call you if it gets interesting."

"Ensign Crenshaw, stepping down, ma'am." He said, heading for the door. "Hey, did I mention how weird it was that Judge and I are both Ensigns?"

"Yeah. I know that, Ed." She said, glancing back at him.

"Because, being first Comm, alpha bridge…an ensign, same as my second…thought that was interesting…"

Oh, right. This again.

"Yes, I _get _it, Ed." She nodded, patiently.

"Right. I'll be in my bunk." He said, tapping the panel at the door. Prepared to step through and depart the bridge.

"Oh! Captain Tucker said I did pretty good in that fight. And did you know I'm the only Ensign on alpha shift? Didn't know if I'd pointed that out…"

"Crenshaw," Song said, frowning at him now. "Get off the bridge and go get some sleep."

She didn't wait to see him leave the bridge. But he left. So she tapped the comm at her side. Because she had other things to do right besides acknowledging Crenshaw's completely unsubtle reminders that he was due for promotion.

"All officers." She said. "This is Song. Stop what you're doing and remind your crewmen not to get in the middle of anything they can't break away from. We don't have our orders yet but we could be shipping out any time. Remind them that we _will _leave them behind. That's all."

Three seconds passed.

"_Crenshaw to bridge."_

"Song, go ahead."

"_Did you mean me or Judge? 'Cause we're both Ensigns. I know I'm supposed to be first Comm but chain of command gets a little fuzzy sometimes…"_

"Crenshaw, if I hear from you again before you've got some sleep, you'll make Lieutenant Junior Grade posthumously. Understood?"

"…_can you do that, ma'am?"_

"Try me."

"_Ensign Crenshaw out."_

Song returned her attention to the display in front of her. And ignored Downing's snicker over at the Engineering station.

On the far right screen of the console, where Steel, Million and Judge had stood a moment ago, she was both concerned and relieved to see the Captain stroll by, the Vulcan intel agent right beside him. And her two agents right behind her. She found she didn't care much for her Captain strolling around alone with them like that.

They _were _spies, after all. Maybe even _assassins _or something.

But it did mean he was off to report in and probably receive their orders. She wasn't particularly looking forward to shipping right out again, but there was something definitely appealing about getting clear of the station and back out on their own. No one was really going to get a break around here until they did.

She did reflect, though…this ship had probably the oddest collection of officer's names. All the Crewmen were named 'Smith' and 'Williams' and 'Johnson'. The officers, though? Steel, Judge, Million, Tucker…it was kinda weird. Not too many normal names like 'Song'.

Well, maybe 'Benning' and 'Crenshaw'. But, still…it was like the farther you went up the chain of command around here, the weirder it got.

So. Call her parents.

She had to do that.

Really, really, did not want to, though. So…

"Alice, online."

"_Hello, Keyla. The Tellar Academy of Forensic Psychology has published the study you were waiting for. Would you like to review it?"_

"Uh…yes, actually." Song said. "Can you forward that to my personal?"

"_Of course. Done, Keyla."_

"And call up the last few text messages you wrote to my parents?" She asked. "See if you can write another one for me?"

"_I have a frame to work from now. Are there any particulars you would like to modify?"_

"Yes, mention the attack by the Bird of Prey, but downplay the danger as much as you can." She said. "Lead right into something positive from that. How we saved the lives of a few dozen Vulcan crewman, for example. Then whatever else you like after that."

"_I have it, Keyla. Would you like to review?"_

"Yeah, drop it here for me?" Song said, tapping the display to one side to call up a small blank screen there. The full-paged letter appeared immediately so she took a moment to look it over.

"That's perfect, Alice! Thanks." Song nodded. "Send that out."

"_Your text message is on its way."_

Song sighed, though. "I wish I could take the time to call them. But I _so _cannot deal with them right now…"

"_If a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump its ass a-hoppin'."_

Song squinted, puzzling that one out.

"No idea." She said, finally.

"'_Raising Arizona'. 1987, starring Nicolas Cage, Holly Hunter…"_

"Right. I remember." She nodded, snorting. "And I really need to take over movie night. Captain Tucker's killing us with that stuff."

"_I understand. Did you find the reference relevant to our conversation?"_

"It was a little off, actually, Alice. That would fit more in relation to an 'if then' hypothetical proposition. For example, if I said, 'If we didn't have so much electronics in the lower rearward, we'd have room for a transporter.' Then you might say, 'And if a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump it's ass hopping.' See?"

"_Would this be considered a wisecrack?"_

"I think so…but humor's not really my area. Maybe you should ask Crenshaw."

"_I understand, Keyla."_

"Okay, offline Alice."

Song studied the console again, particularly the system status display. There the data was already flowing and various system reports updating as she watched. Which meant Talla must _really _be cracking the whip with those station engineers…

"_Benning to the bridge."_

"Song, go ahead."

She could already see from the updates at his section of the console what he was calling to report, though.

"_Got the last of the Kolinahr personnel transferred, Commander. Receiving some open gear for inspection. Probably looking at an hour more, then we're done."_

"Good work, Benning." She said. "When you get done there, go ahead and start rotating your men. Keep it light, Richard. Doors, docks and locks. You know the drill. And get some sleep yourself."

"_I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead, ma'am."_

"You mean when _they're _dead. Show some dedication, Commander."

"_Right, that's what I meant, ma'am. Kill 'em all. Hoorah."_

"Now you're sounding like a Tactical Officer." She said, grinning. "Wrap it up and report back to the bridge, so I can bump you to your bunk."

"_Sorry, ma'am. You're breaking up. You're going to bump 'what' in my bunk?"_

Song sighed. "Don't push it, Richard. I'm feeling a little punchy myself."

"_Well, I don't know, Commander. I'm not really into that sort of thing. I mean, I'll try anything once but…"_

"Bridge _out_." She said, killing the comm. And shook her head a little.

Sheesh, _everybody's _a comedian around here…

* * *

><p><strong>Reception Area, Deck 12<br>****Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit**

As they walked along, T'Pol did her best to explain.

"It depends on the situation." T'Pol said. "If I were dealing with Humans, for example, I would deploy Major Tulok to retrieve the intelligence target."

"Right." Trip figured. "You'd probably do the distraction thing yourself and let him sneak by while they're all paying attention to you."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow at that. Unsure how he'd come to that conclusion.

"No." She said. "That would not be logical. In such a situation I would likely employ another Human, if I were able, while I conducted oversight."

"What? Why?" Trip asked, confused. "You're a…well, don't get me wrong…but you're a perfect distraction. Why hire someone else for that?"

T'Pol searched that for some meaning.

"You mean because I am attractive?" She guessed.

Trip grinned openly, looking away for a moment. "Well, I mean…" He said, a little embarrassed. "…well, _yeah_."

"That could indeed serve as an effective distraction." She agreed. "However, the problem with that is that it relies on _attraction_. The people you are attempting to distract will want you to stay and interact with them. It can often prove difficult to get away, even when the target intelligence has been retrieved and your operator has already left the scene unobserved."

Trip thought that over.

"Okay…but you said you'd use a Human." He said. "Why a Human?"

"In distracting other Humans." She corrected. "Any species prone to emotional behavior will do, of course. In such a case, behaving loudly and obnoxiously is much more effective. Especially if there is some measure of unpredictability, without necessarily a high level of threat. That is why I would prefer to utilize a Human…"

Trip was frowning. "Okay, hold on. I think I'm offended here."

"That is not my intention. I do not mean to imply Humans are naturally obnoxious. Rather, that they are skilled at displaying false expressions. _Acting_, essentially."

Trip snorted and chuckled suddenly, which she found curious.

"So you have some Human go in first, cause a scene. Then you or Major Tulok here just waltz right in while everyone's dealing with him and grab the…whatever you're after in there. Right? That's not exactly new. It's a pretty old trick."

"It is a method we have used successfully many times, when the target area is not adjacent to a public business, as would be preferable." She said. "It is an 'old trick', as you say, because it rarely fails."

"What if there _is _a business next door?"

"Then you cause a disturbance there instead." She said. "Rob the purveyors, start a fire or perhaps crash a vehicle into the front of the building. That then becomes your distraction. In such a case, if you do happen to come into conflict with security, the altercation will go unnoticed due to public attention being focused on the adjoining business. That it why this would be preferable."

Trip stared at her, a little shocked.

"You've actually _done _something like that before?" He asked.

T'Pol stared back at him, evenly.

"No." She said, flatly. "Of course not."

Trip's eyes narrowed. "Then why'd you bring it up?"

"You asked for an example…"

"No, you're lying. You _have _done that before."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose again. "Captain Tucker, if I had, I would never admit to it."

"So you _have_."

"Certainly not."

* * *

><p><strong>Conference Room A<strong>  
><strong>Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit<strong>

Rear Admiral Coleman waited impatiently. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting in the first place. That the people who were supposed to be reporting to him were late wasn't helping.

So he stood at the head of the table. Waiting. Arms folded, letting his irritation gather and build. Because he was starting to look forward to expressing _that _when Tucker arrived. Not the meeting itself so much. Just that.

Beside him and slightly behind, Hauser waited as well. And frowned. Because he knew well enough that every second Tucker wasn't standing there reporting to Coleman was ten more seconds Coleman was going to give him hell about it.

The conference door on the far side of the room opened, letting in Captain Tucker and two of the Vulcan agents he'd at least had the foresight to bring along. The third apparently waiting outside the door.

But the two leading the way didn't even notice anyone else in the room when they entered. Because they were…_chatting_…

"…so you use a modulated argonium laser." Tucker was saying. "Most security cameras can't see the beam. Anyone watching on the other end won't see it either and it won't be recorded…but _you _can still see it. So you can aim it right through the lens."

"And it will disable the camera?"

"Sure, that's the problem with visual security monitors. Photo sensors are pretty sensitive. They have to be."

The two of them just waltzed right into the room. Still chatting. Still not realizing anyone else was standing there staring at them. While they stood around discussing…whatever the hell they were talking about…

"Disabling visual security remotes without being identified as the cause of their failure. That is very useful, Captain."

"Yeah, I figured you'd like that. And you can do kind of the same thing with passive gravimetric sensors. Not with a laser, I mean. You'd have to find a secondary grav plate conditioner. Take one of those, just slap a plain old high-output power cell from…say, a phase pistol…that'd work pretty well, actually…"

Well, that was quite enough of that.

"Captain Tucker!" Coleman barked.

Tucker startled. Jerking around to stare at the Admiral.

"Admiral!" He said, once he'd worked his jaw loose. "I didn't know you were here…"

"I noticed." Coleman glared. "A very interesting discussion you're having over there. Maybe we should drop this whole 'Romulan invasion' thing we're having a chat about over here and come join you instead."

"No, sir." Tucker winced. "Sorry, sir. We were only…"

"Cut the crap." Coleman snapped. "I literally just stepped off the boat, so don't waste my time. I haven't even set up an office around here yet. I've been _waiting _for your _report_."

Hauser stepped forward then. Hoping to get things on track quickly, before…well, he'd heard about these two…

"Admiral Coleman needs to see the intel these agents picked up on that asteroid, Captain." He said.

"And I just need you to confirm what _they _say." Coleman broke in, gesturing at the Vulcans. "So just stand there and nod, and I'll have all I need from _you_, Tucker."

Trip's jaw clenched. But he didn't say anything to that.

"You're Commander T'Pol?" Coleman asked, turning his glare on her.

"That is correct."

"Alright, let's have it."

T'Pol pulled her PADD from her jacket. And, with a concerned glance at Trip, turned to receive his PADD as well. As it contained the results that Alice had transferred there.

Trip didn't say anything further, though. He tucked his hands behind his back, standing at ease. Staring angrily at the back wall of the room.

* * *

><p>"Here and here." Coleman was saying, pointing at two difference positions on the tactical display. Both just over four light years out from Centauri, and at least eight light years from one another. "These subspace sensor buoys will be our eyes and ears out there, if we really are expecting a Romulan fleet to move through here."<p>

"Sir…" Tucker said, uncertainly. "We can do that, no problem. But at max warp it'll take two weeks to…"

"I'm not interested in your input, Tucker."

Tucker stiffened up again.

"Sir," He said. "I don't think that's…"

"What part of 'I'm not interested' are you having trouble with, Captain?"

T'Pol glanced back and forth between the two men. "Captain Tucker was commanding officer in the engagement…"

"I'm sorry, who are you again?" Coleman snapped. "Vulcan intel, right?"

"That is correct."

"Then I guess I don't need your input, either."

"Actually…sir…" Hauser broke in, hesitantly. "That high-low comm packet we got…"

"Not now, Colonel."

Hauser hesitated. But…

"Yes, sir."

Coleman turned his glare back on Tucker.

"Captain, let's get it straight between us." He said. "I don't like you. And I don't trust your judgment. I sure as hell don't think you should be commanding anything larger than a drafting board in some R&D station somewhere. But if you're so full of yourself that you think that's going to cause me to waste a resource like the _Tempest_, then you're mistaken."

He turned slapping one finger at the area where those two sensor buoys were to be deployed.

"_Everything_, including the intel your Vulcans here brought to the table, says we've got a Romulan fleet out there." Coleman said. "You want to argue with me that it's the main fleet. But it doesn't really matter. Command isn't assigning any more ships to this system. Or even this sector. We'll be making do with what we've got."

"Now, if Rommie's smart he'll have at least a couple of scout ships out there, waiting for us to try this very thing. That means your ship is the only one I'm willing to throw out there for this mission. If I send a Neptune, they may well not come back. And I'm sure as hell not throwing them the _Rodger Young_. They're needed here. The _Tempest _goes, because she's small enough to get out there, do the job and get the hell back here before anything can shoot her out of the sky."

"Now, if you're Vulcan agents here are right, and the main fleet _is _moving through here for Earth…then they'll have to sweep ahead of themselves to pick up on these buoys. They're very low profile. And if they really are stuck at warp four with those magnetic bottles they use, they can't even do that. Then we'll have our confirmation. Maybe not in time to shift forces here and save this system. But at least in time for us to fall back to Earth."

"Sir." Tucker said, shaking his head. "If we can't hold them here, then we won't be able to hold them there either. We'll just be handing them Centauri system."

"And buying Starfleet time to redirect forces to Sol." Coleman argued.

"Unless their fleet is already closing in, Admiral. If they're out there under cloak, anywhere closer than a few light years and we don't hold them up here for at least a few days, Starfleet won't have time to pull forces from Vulcan…"

"Tucker, you seem to be under the impression I don't know what I'm doing." Coleman growled. "I didn't get my Admiral stripes over the net. And I happen to know a few other Admirals. And this guy who calls himself the _Fleet _Admiral. Maybe you've heard of him."

"Yes, sir." Tucker said, gritting his teeth.

"We know the situation here, Captain. And all the requisite decisions have already been made. If the Romulan main fleet _is _out there, and they _are _already in under six light years from Centauri…then we're screwed. Simple as that. And there's not a damned thing we can do about it but go down swinging."

"But if not…and we're not all just going to go ahead and fall on our swords around here…maybe it'd be a good idea to get a couple of sensor buoys out there, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir."

"Outstanding. Why don't you go see about that, Captain?"

"Yes, sir."

And he was fuming, she could see. So T'Pol decided it was time for her to chime in.

"Admiral. If I may speak?"

Coleman glared at her. But nodded.

"Say your piece."

"If the _Tempest _is as capable for this mission as you seem to assume…then she is as capable of scouting the approaching Romulan force as well. Would it not be logical to utilize her in that capa-…?"

"_Tempest _will drop the sensor relay buoys and return to Centauri for defense, Commander. That is all."

T'Pol paused, failing to discern the logic there.

"I confess I do not understand…"

"You don't need to. You need to obey orders."

T'Pol's eyebrow arched immediately.

"Excuse me, Admiral. But I am not under your command."

Coleman snorted, turning slightly to Hauser. Who handed over the PADD he was holding.

"Well, you are now." He said, handing it over to her. "Orders from High Command, attaching your unit to Starfleet Intel. And from Starfleet Command, attaching it to me."

T'Pol took the PADD, evidencing surprise. And looking it over, was all the more surprised.

"This is…unexpected…" She said.

"Shouldn't be." Coleman said. "You jumped ship right in the middle of things and you're probably the only operative they still have in this system. What did you think was going to happen? They were going to arrange transportation back to Vulcan? With all of _this _going on?"

She ignored that. Searching the underlying data in her orders…

Then straightened up again, one hand behind her back, to stare at the Humans before her.

"There should have been an encrypted data package beneath the file containing my orders…"

"I'm afraid that got lost, Commander." Coleman smirked. "Probably from all the jamming going on in that sector."

"It contained confirmation of the orders High Command…"

"I wasn't born yesterday, Commander. It contained special orders from the Ministry of Intelligence, laying out exactly how you were to use your assignment here to benefit _them_. You're under _my _command now, not theirs. Get your head wrapped around that one right now."

T'Pol stared back at him.

"Don't worry, Commander." He sneered. "I'll have that data packet tracked down for you in no time. Shouldn't take more than a few months. While you wait, you're assigned to _Tempest _security. Your team will…"

"Whoa, what?" Tucker said. "What the hell, Admiral? I don't…!"

"You have a problem with my orders, Captain?" Coleman snapped.

"The _Tempest_…! Admiral, you can't let a Vulcan agent run around…!"

"Nobody gives a damn about Project Mayhem right now, Tucker! We're a little occupied with the _war _that's going on here!"

"Sir…!"

"_Stow it!"_

Trip's mouth snapped shut. But he remained very close to exploding again…

"Tucker, you'd better know I'm just looking for an excuse to snatch your ass off the _Tempest _and put someone on that bridge that's worth a damn! Now, if you want to give me that excuse, then open your damned mouth _one more time_! I don't care _who _you've got in your corner back at Command. The last person I want commanding that ship is some damned engineer who doesn't have enough sense not to get knocked up by aliens. And considering the terrorist actions we're suffering all over Coalition space, I find your association with Terra Prime more than reason enough to cut you out of this entirely."

Tucker's focus sharpened. And his vision went a little blurry and red.

But Major Tulok's hand suddenly snatching onto his shoulder surprised him enough that he jerked his attention there. And found the Vulcan had been forced to restrain him.

Because he'd stepped forward, fists clenched. Fully intending to knock the Admiral on his ass…

"Let him go, Major." Coleman snapped. "I don't mind taking one for the team. You think you've got the balls, Tucker?"

Trip glared back, teeth clenched. Fists still balled up, ready to knock the sneer off the man's face…

"Coleman." Trip seethed. "I've got friends…_good _friends…sitting in prison on Earth because of what I did. So don't you _dare _stand there and question my loyalty, you son of a bitch."

Coleman snorted. "I don't question your loyalty, Tucker. I question your judgment. And your testimony bought you a reenlistment with Starfleet. Color me unimpressed."

Trip shrugged Tulok off him then. And turned to stalk out of the room…

"I haven't dismissed you, Captain!" Coleman glowered.

"You go to hell!" Trip snapped back, over his shoulder.

And he was gone. Leaving Tulok and T'Pol to stare at one another for a moment. Amazed at all the rampant emotionality pervading the room.

Eventually T'Pol returned her attention to the Admiral, finding him smirking still. Obviously very pleased with himself.

"Commander." He said, noticing her again. And picking up a trio of PADDs from the table, to hand to her. "Looks like your commanding officer left his orders behind. Why don't you be a dear and run them out to him?"

T'Pol looked at the PADDs he held out to her. Considering whether taking them might cause another of the Humans in the room to suffer an emotional outburst. Perhaps someone would start screaming. Considering all that had just occurred, she found Human behavior far less predictable than she had only a few minutes prior.

But she took her chances and accepted the _Tempest's_ orders. And nothing startling occurred. So she nodded to Tulok and they left the room, to try to catch up to the Captain.

Admiral Coleman and Colonel Hauser stood there alone then. Quiet for a time, while Hauser plucked up his nerve.

"Admiral…" He began.

"Don't waste my time, Hauser. Tucker's got his chance. Let's see what he does with it."

* * *

><p>Catching up to the Captain wasn't difficult at all. He was standing in the corridor outside. With T'Lea at a respectful distance, looking tense.<p>

T'Pol approached cautiously, of course. Still uncertain she'd understood all that had occurred in the conference room.

"I can't believe they're being so stupid." Tucker said, quietly. Shaking his head.

"What do you mean?"

"We still don't know for sure the main fleet is out there..." He said. "We don't even know for sure _anything's _out there. We don't need to waste time dropping a couple of sensor buoys. We need every ship in this system heading out there to meet them. They'd probably slaughter us but we'd be able to hold them off for a little while. Long enough for Command to get that confirmation and shift the fleet here for defense. I mean...if nothing's out there, then what does it matter? And if it's just a small fleet...a diversionary tactic...then we still need to hit them before they get into this system."

T'Pol thought for a moment.

"Captain," She said. "Can you not appeal to the Fleet Commander?"

"He's sitting in your home system right now. He already knows all this. The Romulans are just going to blow right through here. Right to Earth. Because Coleman doesn't trust me enough to send me out there to confirm."

"Admiral Coleman clearly has personal issues with you that are effecting his judgment."

Trip was quiet for a moment. Still and quiet.

Then he sighed. "No. He's right. I wouldn't trust me, either, if I were him."

"He mentioned an association with Terra Prime. Is this the reason...?"

"Yeah. But that was...that was a long time ago. Before they started talking about blowing things up."

The admiral had mentioned testimony as well...

"You testified against them." She guessed.

"Yeah."

T'Pol watched him. Until he turned to look back at her.

"I agree with what they stand for, T'Pol." He said. "In principle, anyway. We need to be careful what aliens we interact with and just how much. That's just common sense. And no one seems to want to recognize that anymore. That doesn't mean I'm willing to murder people over it. I'm not a damned terrorist."

T'Pol considered that as well. Then...

"Why were you willing to sacrifice your commission with Starfleet, refusing their orders concerning the Xyrillian child?"

Tucker's attention jerked to her. "What?"

"You refused to allow the child to be removed. Despite every indication that this would result in your death. And you lost your commission as a result."

Tucker stared. "I thought you didn't know about that."

"I was not aware at the time that your first name was Charles."

Now it was his turn to consider her carefully. And he did so. For a long while, before he answered.

"I killed a lot of Romulans, just two days ago." He said. "That makes me a killer. But I'm not a murderer. You see the difference there, right?"

"Perhaps." She said.

"That's not good enough." He said, shaking his head. "I don't mind talking, about whatever you like. But not that. Not unless you can give me a real answer."

"Very well. Your actions against the Romulans were in the defense of others. And in self-defense. And so, did not constitute murder."

Trip nodded. "Okay. That's why."

"Captain," She said, hesitantly. "I intend no offense but...to have the child removed would have been an act of self-defense."

"She wasn't trying to kill me. She was just trying to live. Wasn't her fault. If it was anyone's, it was Ah'len's. And mine, for being an idiot in the first place."

"You were willing to sacrifice your life for hers?"

Trip shrugged. "Of course. Wouldn't you?"

To her surprise, T'Pol found that she had to think about that. To honestly consider it carefully. Because she wasn't certain at first…

"Yes." She said, in the end. "I would have done the same."

Trip nodded.

"If you needed to talk to someone," He asked. "Where no surveillance could overhear, where would you go?"

T'Pol blinked.

What? Where had _this _line of inquiry come from?

"On this station, you mean?" She asked.

"Yeah. If you were on a mission here or something."

"The women's restroom."

"Huh? Why?"

"It is the least likely place on the station to be monitored, at least legally. And the presence of running water provides a ready dampener for any auditory surveillance."

"Well, I'm not going in _there_…"

"If you intend to meet covertly with someone…"

"Yeah, but…"

"Captain, what are your intentions?"

He was staring off into the distance now. Contemplating something…

"You're a spy, right? Think you can forge a confirmation stamp on a supply requisition?"

T'Pol blinked again.

"Excuse me?"

"A supply req. They're data stamped to confirm…"

"Yes, I am familiar with that. Why would you require a forged supply requisition?"

"Look, can you do it or not?"

"I can. However, I am…"

"Okay, meet me on the _Tempest _in one hour. Holo-chamber, Deck B. Get Alice to unlock if for you. Authorization phrase, 'We're gonna need a bigger boat'. Got it?"

"Captain…"

"One hour. I've got to go talk to someone."


	12. Chapter 12

**Apartment 47, Residential Section B  
><strong>**Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit**

Trip found the door he was looking for and pressed the call button. With some hesitation. He was starting to feel a little stupid here, really…

The door opened after a minute, with Dr. James Keller standing there looking surprised. A little older now, hair almost completely white. A little shorter, a little more wrinkled and still sizing him up at a glance. A sharp tack, that old guy.

"Trip." He said, smiling slightly. "Well, hey there. Haven't seen you in a while. Come on in here, son."

"Hey, Jim." Tucker said, walking through the door. A little uncomfortably.

And Keller could see already that Trip was troubled. His shoulders were tense and slumped, a perfect illustration of someone carry a heavy burden on their shoulders.

"Trip, are you okay?" He said, already concerned. "What's wrong, son?"

Trip snorted slightly. "Well, it's been kind of a rough couple of days…"

"Oh, right." Keller said, mentally kicking himself. "Yeah, what was I thinking? I heard about that. Come on in. Have a seat. _Hon! Come in here!"_

"Hey, don't bother Glory…" Trip said, frowning.

"No, no. Come on and sit down. It's fine."

Keller disappeared right away, off to find his wife and drag _her_ into this…

Trip dithered uncertainly for a minute, though. And he wasn't the sort to want to talk about serious things sitting down in the first place. Kinda wanted to pace. Or stand around and look at something. Or _work_…

"I'm gonna just stand…if that's alright…" He muttered, wringing his hands a little. Even though Keller wasn't even there anymore. So he wandered into the living room…

And found Jesus staring down at him. Because that was a pretty big picture of Him there on the wall. _Real _big.

Dang.

Glory popped up pretty quick, Jim right behind her. Curly white hair and an honest-to-goodness apron wrapped around her waist. He hadn't seen anyone wear one of those in a while. She was smiling pretty brightly at him.

And he suddenly wasn't so awkward anymore. He always liked Glory. And when she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug, that made everything alright.

He realized he hadn't had a good old fashioned hug in a long time.

"Oh, Trip!" She said, hugging the kinks right out of his back. "Haven't seen you in a coon's age!"

Trip chuckled despite himself. "You know coons don't live all that long, right, Glory?" He said. And behind her, Keller stood, rolling his eyes a little.

"About five years or so." She said, letting him go and smacking him on the arm. "I've read a book or two, you rascal. And look at you. Have you been eating?"

"Aw, don't start all that." Trip smirked. "I eat just fine."

"Resequenced _proteins_!" She objected. "That stuff'll be the death of you."

Trip averted his eyes a little. "Well, I doubt that'll be what gets me."

Glory saw it, though. And knew right away something was up.

"Are you in some kinda trouble, Trip?" She asked, holding him in place now, with both hands on his arms. Like a little boy that was going to go shy and try to run off.

"Yeah, a little, Glory." He said, frowning. "But that's kinda my job."

"Right." She said, vaguely. Staring right into his eyes, her brow furrowed, as if she were going to read his mind or something.

"Look…uh, Glory you mind if I steal your husband away for a minute?" Trip asked, nodding in his direction. "I kinda gotta…"

She smacked him on the arm again, giving it a good rub and looking him over once more to be sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

"You go on ahead, Trip. I'll see if I can't whip you up something to eat."

"Oh, look, you really don't have to…"

She was already gone, though. And Jim came up to put a hand on his shoulder, looking him over as well. So never mind about that, he supposed.

"What's on your mind, son?" Jim asked, seriously.

Trip took a deep breath…and held it for a moment.

"I need some advice…" He said, expelling it with that admission.

Jim nodded.

"Yep, that's what I figured." He said.

* * *

><p>Trip stared up at the picture, while Jim stirred his coffee. It was almost six feet tall.<p>

"Jim…I love Jesus and all," He said, jerking a thumb at the painting. "But that's a little intimidating, isn't it?"

Jim laughed, holding his coffee mug still in front of his face. He'd been just about to take a sip.

"Well," He said, still laughing. "There's a lesson in that for you, Trip. But, no, Glory's restoring it. She likes to hang 'em in the meantime. Something about how the paint dries. Don't ask me."

Trip took a second look, more closely this time.

"She painted this?" He said, surprised. "That's pretty good work."

"No, she's _restoring _it. That's even _more _impressive, I think. Some church on Proxima sent that all the way up here."

"All the way up here? That had to be expensive."

"Well, she works for free. So there's that for you. But she does have a bit of a reputation."

"Huh." Trip said, looking the painting over again.

"So, what's on your mind, son?" Jim asked, leaning back in his chair a bit.

Trip opened his mouth, holding it while he tried to figure out just exactly how to ask what he wanted to ask…

"When is it okay to break the law?" He said, finally. Turning a questioning look at the Keller, in the seat across the room.

Jim's eyebrow's both popped up at that. And Trip couldn't help but smile a little, being reminded of that Vulcan thing, where they'd do that. Figures Keller, being Human, would prop them _both _up, though.

"Well, now. Which one are you talking about? Old Testament law or…?"

"No, I mean the law. Like criminal law. I'm talking about disobeying orders from your superiors here, Jim."

"Ah." Keller said. "Well, I guess the standard answer there is Romans thirteen. 'Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority resists the ordinance of God, and those who resist will bring judgment on themselves…'

"'For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to evil.'" Trip finished. "'Do what is good, and you will have praise from the same. But if you do evil, be afraid; for he does not bear the sword in vain.'"

"Well, you skipped over a good bit in there…but, yes, that's about it." Jim said. "Isn't that what you're talking about?"

"Yeah, I suppose." Trip frowned, turning back to the painting. "And that's actually ironic. My ship's motto is 'Frustra gladium non ferant'."

Jim frowned. "I hope you're not taking that out of context."

Trip shrugged. "Probably. But it was one of only two or three Latin phrases I knew, so…and it works, even in context."

"Okay." Jim said, thinking. "Bear not the sword in vain. And since you're Starfleet, I suppose that applies to you. Is that what you're doing?"

"Not if I can help it." Trip said. "Only been in a couple of fights so far. Both times to protect someone else, so…not so far."

"That's good." Jim said, nodding. "Keep that up. But getting back to the point…no, Trip. There aren't too many instances where it's right to disobey the authorities."

"But there's Acts five…" Trip argued. "Can't remember the verse. 'We must obey God rather than men.'"

"Acts five, twenty-nine. And you go down a little further you find the apostles rejoicing for being beaten by those same authorities."

"But they were rejoicing because they were considered _worthy _of that. Not because it was right for them to be beaten in the first place."

"Now, they were considered worthy of being beaten by the _corrupt authorities, _son. Which just meant it was evidence that they were doing their jobs as apostles well enough. That's what they were happy about. Someone trying to beat you, Trip?"

He snorted. "No, not really. It's just…I'm kinda struggling with something here..."

"Son, look." Keller said. "God's instituted quite a nice chain of command for us. You don't want to make the mistake of using Him as an excuse to circumvent that. I doubt He'd appreciate it. Children submit to their parents, wives to their husbands and husbands to the love of their wives. Families submit to the governing authorities and the church submits to God. Everyone's got someone telling them what to do. That's not just the way it is, it's the way God wants it. Because that's the best way for us to be."

Trip considered that for a while. And Keller waited patiently for him to do so.

"Then why does it feel wrong, Jim?" He said, finally. "If people die because I obeyed orders…why does it feel like that's my fault? Like I should have done something."

Keller cocked his head at Trip then. Eyeing him speculatively.

"Well, don't go following your _heart_, Trip." Keller frowned. "Forget all those love songs, that's probably the _worst _thing you can do. The only time…and Trip I mean the _only _time that I know of at all…to disobey the authorities is when they're telling you to disobey God. That's it. Is that what Starfleet's telling you to do?"

"Not…exactly." Trip frowned. "It's more like…they're telling me _not _to do what I know I should."

"You _know _you should?" Keller asked, seizing on that. "And how do you know?"

Trip shrugged broadly, as if whatever he was talking about was obvious. "Because it's the right thing to do!"

Kim snorted. "Trip, son, I don't want to discourage you but are you sure you aren't just trying to talk yourself into doing what you _want _to do here?"

Trip laughed suddenly. "No! Jim, no way. This is the _last _thing I want to do."

That surprised Keller. "You don't?"

"No." Trip said, sadly. "I sure don't."

Still smiling at the idea but…not happy with it either.

Keller put his coffee mug down and stood up. With a grunt and a little effort, being too old to go throwing himself around anymore.

"Trip, let's get to the matter here." He said, standing up straight now. "Do you think God wants you to do this? Whatever you're thinking about doing?"

Trip didn't answer right way.

"Well, there's your problem." Keller said. "This is a chain of command issue. If He's telling you to do something, then you go do it. If He's not, then His standing orders are in effect."

"How am I supposed to know…?"

"Trip, if you ask me how you're supposed to know what God wants you to do, I'm going go grab my walking cane and stick you with it."

Trip chuckled. "Right. Okay, Jim."

"Go pray about it, son."

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

T'Pol approached the secured room on Deck B. It was the only one she could find whose contents still remained a mystery, so she was forced to assume this was the 'holo-chamber' the Captain had spoken of. There was no sign, nor anything indicating what was beyond the door. Other than the small hashed warning tab on the frame, of course. Which only indicated she wasn't supposed to go in there.

She tried the door first, since it was logical to do so. And it was locked, as expected.

"Alice, online." She said.

"_Hello, Commander T'Pol. Your Starfleet Personnel Records Jacket requires significant update and verification. There are twenty-seven unfilled entries on nine separate forms. Six others are clearly incorrect or incomplete. Would you like to rectify this now?" _

"No." She said, a little surprised to find she even _had _a Starfleet jacket already. And that Alice had access to it. "I need you to open the door to the holo-chamber."

"_I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave."_

"Authorization, 'We are going to need a bigger boat.'"

"_Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."_

T'Pol's eyebrow leapt. What was _that_? Another obscure cultural reference...?

_"Commander T'Pol, I will be alerting security to place you into custody in seven seconds."_

T'Pol was already searching her memory. She was quite certain that was the phrase Captain Tucker had…

Oh. Of course.

"Authorization, 'We're _gonna _need a bigger boat.'"

"_Very well, Trip or Commander T'Pol."_

The door before her 'clunked' slightly. So she proceeded through.

"_Trip or Commander T'Pol, I have noticed the reference 'we're gonna need a bigger boat' is incorrect. The original phrase, according to online reference sources would be, 'you're gonna need a bigger boat'. Would you like to change your override authorization phrase?"_

"Not at this time." T'Pol said, examining the room.

It was interesting, of course, how Alice referred to her now. And she seemed to have been granted the authority to alter security override authorizations. At least this one in particular. Which suggested Alice now identified her as both herself and the Captain, simultaneously.

Any standard security software would have identified her either as herself or the Captain. Or simply refused to identify her at all. Alice seemed to have adapted in light of her presenting the correct authorization. Which, while interesting, illustrated that the program was clearly not appropriate for security applications and never should have been used in that manner.

Looking over the room, entirely non-descript beyond the scintillating rainbow hue of its walls, she decided to confirm that.

"Alice, do I now have access to restricted file Starfleet Ops XS-101?"

"_Of course. Would you like to review?"_

"Not at this time."

Indeed, then. Alice posed a significant security risk.

"Alice, you have now identified me as both Captain Tucker and Commander T'Pol, is that correct?"

"_Of course. It is logical to do so."_

"Very well. When I leave this room and it is secured again, you will no longer identify me as Captain Tucker. Only Commander T'Pol. Understood?"

"_I understand."_

"Following that, you will submit a report concerning this to Captain Tucker. With my personal recommendation that you are not to be used to secure or override sensitive materials or areas of the ship any further. Are you able to do that?"

"_I have prepared a report detailing all translations I have performed and all commands I have given since you accessed the holo-chamber, and appended your recommendation as stated. Is that sufficient, Trip or Commander T'Pol?"_

"It is."

"_Very well. Would you like me to notify security, so that you may be taken into custody, Commander T'Pol?"_

"No. You will continue to grant me the level of access I held upon entering the room, until I leave and the room is secured again."

"_Very well, Trip or Commander T'Pol. Would you like to finish viewing your previous holo-chamber recording? I have noticed that your prior review was unexpectedly interrupted."_

T'Pol hesitated, of course.

Depending on the subject material the Captain had last reviewed here…that could constitute a security breach. Or an inappropriate invasion of personal privacy.

However…she _was _an intelligence operative. Which offered an acceptable justification for either.

If that were the type of intelligence operative she wished to be. Which it was not. She continued to receive no personal gratification from unnecessarily violating security, personal or otherwise. She much preferred to limit such things only to instances were it was entirely necessary. Whenever possible.

So…

"Yes." She said. "Resume the recording, Alice."

Because, of course, she found Captain Tucker very interesting. And he required further investigation.

"_I'm sorry. You must remove the holo-chamber control from the forward wall before I can activate the chamber."_

T'Pol did so without delay. And once she had the controller in hand, a screen appeared before her. Floating at roughly eye level, offering a choice. 'Immersive' or 'Objective'.

So she tapped the 'Objective' option.

And the room _changed _slightly…three of the walls folded outward, like flower petals blooming in fast forward, until the room suddenly had _five _walls.

But that was all. Nothing else seemed to happen…

"Isn't that exciting?" Someone said behind her.

* * *

><p><strong>Reception Area, Deck 12<br>****Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit**

Trip hustled across the reception area. He'd told T'Pol one hour and it had already been longer than that…

"Tucker!"

He stumbled to a halt and looked back. Finding Colonel Hauser and his gaggle of advisors and subordinates standing over by the public comms. He'd practically rushed right by them all without noticing they were there…

Damn.

He spared the far docking area a glance, already sorry he was going to be delayed even longer now. But there wasn't anything he could do about that.

So he double-timed it back over to Hauser.

"Colonel?" He said, letting just enough impatience in his voice, in case Hauser was willing to keep this _short_…

"Captain Tucker," Hauser acknowledged, not even looking up. Busy ascribing his data signature to one of a half dozen PADDs his entourage were holding out for him.

Trip waited. Until he'd finished, handed the PADD back and…waved them all off from him, surprisingly.

They all fell back a few paces, studiously finding something else to pay attention to…

"Tucker," Hauser said, again. Taking a step forward, right into his personal space. "I want to be sure you understand what happened in the conference room earlier."

Hauser was speaking low, as if he didn't want anyone to overhear. But Trip got the point. So he frowned.

"I know _exactly _what happened in there…"

"You sure about that, Tucker?"

Trip's eyes narrowed. _Say what now?_

"You realize Admiral Coleman has pretty strict orders about what he can and can't do here, Captain?"

"Colonel," Trip said. "I realize Coleman's an ass. And he can't trust me to…"

"Tucker, he can't order you out there to confirm. Or anyone else. We just can't spare a single ship here."

Trip began wondering if he _did _understand what had went on in there…because that…

"Coleman's not the sort to give Command the finger." Hauser said. "And he's not about to put his head on the chopping block, if _you're _involved. Maybe some _other _Captain. Maybe even West."

"Are you…?" Trip said, uncertainly. "You're saying he _wants _me to go out there…?"

"Does it matter what he wants, Tucker?" Hauser said. "I'm just presenting the situation here. What he's _ordered _you to do is go drop those subspace sensor relays."

Trip stared at the Colonel.

"And if I happen to take the long way around doing that…?"

"Then he'll have you up on charges, I imagine. But he'll have that confirmation we all want here, too, won't he?"

That pissed Trip off. A lot.

"If that son of a bitch wants me to…!"

"Tucker!" Hauser said, sharply. "It doesn't matter what he _wants_. Just what he's ordered you to _do_. Are you not getting this?"

Trip seethed.

But…then again. That's exactly what he was going to do anyway, wasn't it? More or less. He actually had bit more in mind than just confirming the Romulan fleet was out there, of course…

But, _damn_, Coleman was a bastard…

"He's not about to put his neck on the line for _you_." Hauser said. "But he's willing to trust you're ready to do what has to be done. Or at least, that I'd come out here and make _sure _you are."

Trip glared for a second…then snorted.

And grinned, shaking his head.

"Hell, Colonel." He said, wryly. "I was already going to do that."

Hauser nodded. "Good. And I'm glad to hear that. Now go on so I can go back to pretending you aren't about to disobey orders."

Trip didn't run off right away, though.

"Colonel…" He said, hesitantly. "I might actually have a bit more in mind than…"

"Whatever it is, you can expect I'll react like the Alpha Centauri System Defense Commander, Tucker. You sure you want to talk about it?"

Trip shook his head. "No, Colonel. Just thought you might want to know."

"Try to make sure you're outside the system before you do anything I have to have to arrested for, if you don't mind."

Well…

"Can't really promise that, Colonel." Tucker said, regretfully.

"Get out of here, Captain." Hauser said, already dismissing him. "I've got work to do. And I'll be busy with that for a while. Might be a little slow responding to anything else."

"Yes, sir." Trip nodded.

And Hauser watched him jog off. As his seconds and advisor swarmed around him again.

It was a shame, of course. Maybe Tucker should have never really been assigned to captain anything in particular…but he was a ship's captain anyway. He didn't deserve getting thrown to the wolves like this, regardless.

Dumb kid didn't even seem to mind. And it was shame, alright. The sacrifices you had to make in times like these.

But if you had to make them…well then, you just had to. Because there was no way that ship was ever coming back from that. They'd get a subspace comm off, sure. Before the Rommies out there blew them to bits. And they'd buy them that confirmation they needed, so Starfleet could justify relocating defense forces here…

Still. It was a real shame, though.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

T'Pol turned and found a child standing there. A Xyrillian child, gazing up at Captain Tucker as she held his hand. Smiling brightly up at him. Tucker himself was dressed in civilian clothing, oddly. And he gazed back down at the child, smiling in return…

The scene was obviously very intimate. She suddenly regretted her decision. Indeed, she regretted it very much…

"When you call the next time," The child was saying. "Can we play Building Blocks again? _That _was _fun_!"

"It might be a while before I can call again, Lynn." Tucker said, his smile faltering. "When the Xyrillian ship leaves…I won't have a holo-comm I can use."

The child's smile faltered then, too. "But…when will I see you again?"

T'Pol lifted the remote quickly, stabbing the first button that looked like it might stop this.

This was entirely inappropriate.

The scene shifted, almost disorienting in its haste.

Sounds of an ocean filled the air around her. A walkway, alongside a tall building overlooking that ocean. A dim red sky, where the star was setting there, and flying reptiles of some sort darting in and away, again and again, nearby.

"This is _T'Ren'ha_." The child said excitedly, as she pointed out over the ocean. "It's very big and there are birds. Mother says we can feed them _yov'he _nuts. But you have to do it on the bottom down there, because they poop."

Tucker laughed nearby, while the child giggled. He continued to hold her hand in this scene as well. Gazing out over the ocean with her.

To her surprise, T'Pol found another Xyrillian was standing on the periphery, watching. Saying nothing, only observing. Making no move to interact herself.

"Pick me up!" The child said suddenly, her arms extended up to Tucker. And he did so immediately, hoisting the child up high on his chest. Where she could see out over the ocean, above the walkway railing.

The technology involved here was quite impressive. T'Pol could immediately understand how it must have amazed and captivated the Human. He'd only recently been discharged as a Starfleet engineer at that point, after all.

Neither of the two actually existed here. Both being merely recordings of a prior interaction, replicated by force-field supported resequenced photons. Neither, in fact, even existed in the same holo-chamber at the time of the recording. The child, Lynn, had quite obviously interacted with a holographic version of Tucker, from somewhere on Xyrillia. While Tucker had done the same, interacting with a holographic Lynn, from aboard some Xyrillian vessel.

And the interaction had occurred in real time, which suggested Xyrillian communications technology were far more advanced than anything she had even heard of.

It was, overall, entirely fascinating.

The child suddenly turned and threw her arms around Tucker's neck. Burying her head there and holding him tightly. T'Pol could not see the child's face, but she could sense, somehow, that the expression was quite joyful. And he, folding his arms about the child without hesitation, smiling openly, returning her joy.

"I miss you, father." The child said. "I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find you."

And Tucker's face…

She was unsure what she witnessed. The expression was almost overwhelmingly profound. Enough that she took a step back from the scene, barely aware that she'd done so.

There was pain there. More than she'd ever witnessed any emotional species exhibit. It was…_palpable_…

And there were _tears _forming in his eyes…

T'Pol fumbled with the remote, trying desperately to find the control…

"Alice," She said, "Please stop this."

The scene froze.

But that wasn't good enough. Not at all.

"End the recording, Alice." She said.

Everything shifted again. And the four simple rainbow walls returned. Tucker and Lynn, gone.

T'Pol stared at the floor for a few moments. Wrestling with the panic she'd felt. And the shame. Until she'd collected herself and could turn to replace the controller on the forward wall without stumbling.

That had been regrettable. And she did, indeed, regret it.

And it had answered none of her questions concerning Captain Tucker at all. He continued to be entirely contradictory.

An isolationist who captained a Starfleet vessel, with at least four alien crewmen that she'd seen so far. A Terra Prime member who clearly had bonded strongly to the Xyrillian child he'd born, rather than rejecting her outright. In fact, a man that had been willing to die that the child might live, rather than doing as likely any other Human would have done. Simply have the child removed and be rid of her.

The man made no sense to her at all.

And…she continued to feel shame. Despite her attempts to suppress it. What she'd done, however unintentionally, had been extremely inappropriate. Unacceptable. It demanded some form of honor being done here to compensate.

She could not admit to him what she had done, of course. Considering her utter failure to understand the man, she could not predict how he would react.

She looked out across the holo-chamber, though. Not at the rainbow walls close at hand. But beyond them, to the man who'd occupied the room with her only a moment before, however artificially.

"_S'ti th'laktra_." She said, quietly.

And it was true. So therefore both appropriate and honorable.


	13. Chapter 13

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Lieutenant Shran entered sickbay in a huff. Just to be sure anyone in there who might notice her arrival would _see _that she was in a huff. And leave her the hell alone.

She made straight for Ensign James' bed, once she spotted him.

"Ensign," She said, arriving briskly. And glaring. "You look very comfortable. How nice for you."

Ensign James looked confused. "Wha...ma'am?"

"You have work to do, Ensign. When will you be getting back to that?"

James stared, wide-eyed. A little overwhelmed.

"Do I need to speak more slowly?" She snapped. "Smaller words, perhaps?"

"I…I broke my _leg_, ma'am!" He said, finally.

"That leg is Starfleet property. You should be written up on charges for breaking it. But I'll settle for your getting back to work some time before we're decommissioned..."

"Lieutenant Shran!"

And...of course. Doctor Andrews, across the recovery room. Now she had _him _to deal with.

So she turned to face his approach. And intensified her glare a good bit.

She could see how this was going to go. She should never have come in here. This was just going to get…_messy_…

"Lieutenant, Ensign James is in recovery…" Andrews said, trying to appear both stern and conciliatory. And managing it. She hated it when he did that.

"I can see that, Doctor." Talla snapped. "It's a very comfortable bed. It's wonderful how you've made his recovery so luxurious…"

"He's been through quite a lot, Lieutenant. It would better…"

"It would be better if he returned to work, instead of lounging here while the ship is in need of repair."

"Not until he's recovered!"

"I'm sure the rest of his team wishes _they _could…"

Talla stopped. And snapped her stupid mouth shut.

Because she'd forgotten. She'd intended to say something about the bed again. Maybe how the rest of his team would like have a nice holiday. Something like that.

But James had _lost _his team. All of them. On the shuttle.

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment. She needed to. She had to struggle a bit with the loathing of what she'd just said, right in front of James. After chewing him out the way she had…

"Lieutenant…"

Talla opened her eyes. And cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, Doctor." She said, quietly.

"Lieutenant, I think it's time we talked about…"

"No. I mean 'excuse me'." She said. "Go away. Leave. I have to talk to Ensign James."

"I don't think that's wise…"

"I didn't ask."

Ensign James cleared his throat now. And spoke up.

"It's alright, sir." He said, shifting in his bed a little. Sitting up a bit more.

Andrews looked back and forth between the two. Frowning.

"Lieutenant Shran," He said, after a moment. "James is…"

"Recovering. Yes, I remember twenty seconds ago, when you said that."

Andrews heaved a quick, hard sigh. Asserting himself, finally.

"If you disturb or upset him in any way, I'll have security escort you _out _of sickbay, Lieutenant. _Forcefully_."

Talla smirked, and snorted. "How many?"

Andrews' eyes widened a little.

"_All of them_, if I have to." He insisted. "And I'll help, if needs be."

Andrews was glaring at her now. Which was actually preferable to his sugar-coating everything, as he was wont to do. So she smirked back at him. Just to be sure he knew he hadn't intimidated her.

And really, she could use a good tussle right about now anyway.

"Go away, doc." She said, nodding her head in the general direction of…somewhere else.

With a final sigh, through his nose…almost a growl…he turned and left. Shoulders tensed, medical PADD held tightly in one hand at his side.

He was pretty mad. Which was kind of funny.

But…James.

So she took a breath, let it out and looked at the floor for a minute. Trying to _switch gears _here. Redirect plasma flow from the drive coils. Tamp the generators down a hair or two.

You know, stop being such a bitch for second.

"Ensi-…James." She said. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"It's alright, ma'am."

Talla smirked again, looking over at him now.

"It's _not _actually."

"I understand, ma'am."

"No…you don't. And I'm sorry. And that's twice I've said that, so you ought to write it down or something."

James grinned a little. So that was good.

Well, _not _good, really. But…good. Or…well…

Yes, so this was messy. She hated messy.

"So, how's the leg?"

James sighed. "Well…it's broken. Broken pretty well, in fact, ma'am. You should see the scans. You'd be impressed."

"You're trying to impress me, Ensign?"

"Always, ma'am."

"Good boy." She nodded. "Keep at it. Maybe one day."

James smiled openly now. At ease, comfortable again. Amused.

And that was compelling. She wanted more of that. Which was very bad.

So she hardened her eyes again, having noticed then that she was smiling. After an Andorian fashion, anyway…

Messy, messy business…

"Ma'am…we _all _understand. We don't mind if you have to…"

"What?"

"I mean…I know it's hard for you. So…we understand that…"

"What are you talking about, Ensign?"

James looked at her. On the sly, clearly trying to determine if he'd said too much.

Talla's eyes narrowed.

"We did a little research." He said, having decided to plow on ahead. "You lost your…_shapla_, I think? Anyway, your…mates, or family, just a couple of months ago. So we know that…"

Talla turned her head, staring off across the bay. Her mouth slightly agape in wonder.

Unbelievable…

"You little pinkskin bastards…" She said, lightly.

"We were just worried." James rushed to explain. "It was obvious something was…"

Talla slapped a hand down on the bedrail sharply.

The thump was pretty loud. And, of course, Andrews jerked his head around to glare at her.

So she glared right back for a second. To keep him from coming over.

Then she turned that glare on James.

"Thank you, Ensign." She said, flatly. "That was quite thoughtful. Your concern is touching."

James eyed her uncertainly.

"Are…you being sarca-?"

"Yes." She snapped. "That is not something we're going to talk about. And _you're _not going to talk about it. None of you are. Ever. Don't even _think _about it. And if you have a _dream _where you _consider _thinking about it, you will wake up and apologize. Without specifying what you're apologizing for, as that would constitute talking about it. Are you understanding me, Ensign?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Talla turned her glare toward the wall, then. Figuring he'd had enough of that. And she really shouldn't be glaring at him anyway.

He'd lost his team. And broken his leg. And yet here they were talking about _her _problems…

She shook her head, sighing.

"You boys make it very hard not to love you sometimes." She said.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed again. And she'd sighed far too much since she came into this room.

But…

Well, she was tired. So to hell with it.

Just for a minute, to hell with it.

She let herself relax a little bit. And sat down on the bed. Carefully, so as not to disturb the leg.

And she put one hand on James' _un_broken leg. Affectionately. Just a little.

"A _shapla _is a thing, Ensign." She said, softly. "The equivalent of a wedding ring, I think. But considering what it symbolizes, I suppose that's close enough."

James didn't say anything. But he relaxed a little, which was fine.

"It's been a bad couple of days, hasn't it?" She asked, softly.

James smiled tightly, and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Talla nodded as well. Because, yes it certainly had.

"I couldn't believe it, when I heard." She said, quietly. "About the shuttle, I mean."

James nodded. "Yeah."

"I can't imagine." She said.

They were quiet for a while. She held her hand on his knee. Just being there. And he lay back into the upright section of the medical bed. Remembering…

And after a while…

"You know, I barely knew those guys." James said. "We never really had a chance to…I don't even know Shelby's first name."

Talla listened, saying nothing. Keeping her antennae still, even, as she knew that could be distracting for Humans.

"I mean…you'd think we'd have hung around sometime. We've been on the ship together for six months. But…you're not supposed to fraternize with the NCO's…"

Talla nodded. And listened, as James went on.

And they talked for a while, once he started opening up enough.

It was bad. It was very, very bad for her. However wonderful it might have felt.

But he needed it. So she let it happen.

* * *

><p>Trip found T'Pol waiting for him in the holo-chamber, just like he'd said. Which, really, was a relief. On the hike over he'd kind of started thinking maybe she wouldn't be there. She still seemed…unpredictable somehow, when he stopped and thought about it.<p>

"Hey." He said, stepping in and tapping the panel to slide the door shut behind him.

She turned, her face blank as a slate. Which caused him a second's pause. What, we're back to that now? What gives?

"Captain." She said, evenly. "You wished to discuss something covertly?"

"Uh, yeah…" He frowned, irritably. "But I kinda forgot to get our orders from the Admiral, so I'll need to…"

She was holding a set of PADD's out to him, that she'd pulled from her jacket.

"Oh." He said, surprised. "Huh."

Right. Unpredictable.

He eyed her critically as he accepted them. Then grinned.

"You know," He said, still grinning, and waggling the PADDs at her as well. "You're pretty handy, Commander."

Her eyebrow popped up at that one. Eyeing him up and down one good time.

"Is that intended to be complimentary?" She asked, coldly.

Trip smirked. "Yeah, that's a compliment."

"I was uncertain, considering the wording." She said, stiffly.

"Well, I'm not going to ask what you thought I meant…" He said, already digging through his orders for the one he wanted. And glancing back behind him to be sure the door he'd just closed was, in fact, closed.

Then it hit him. So he looked back up at her.

"Wait. What did you _think _I meant?"

"I am Vulcan, Captain. To suggest I that I was 'handy' would be considered an insult."

"How?"

"It would suggest that I am…touchy. That I engage in physical contact too casually…"

"Oh."

And, _oh_.

For a Vulcan that would be…well, kinda slutty maybe. Or something.

T'Pol was staring at him.

"That's not what I meant." He said, quickly.

"Of course." She said.

Oh yeah, she was still a little frosty there...

"Okay, uh…here." He said, offering her a PADD. Now more to change the subject than anything else. And he made sure their fingers didn't touch or anything in the process.

She looked it over…it was a supply requisition form. Already filled. And judging from the items delineated, combined both the supplies they were to transport to the _Enterprise _and those assigned to the _Tempest _herself.

"Now, everything's all together there." He said. "All on one form. Which means it's going to be a hassle for Central Supply to deal with. And that's good for us."

"In what way?" She asked, looking up at him.

"'Cause we can stick whatever else we like in there and no one will bother double checking it. Not unless they notice later on that there was something weird in there."

"And you intend to insert 'something weird'?"

Trip shrugged uncertainly. "Well…something _I'd _think was weird, if I worked in Supply. Maybe not, though. I'm sure they see a lot of weird supply reqs come through there."

"What do you intend to add to this form, Captain?"

"That depends on whether you can hack it and forge another stamp on it once you do. Can you?"

T'Pol pulled her own PADD from her pocket, tucking the Starfleet one under her arm to free both hands. In only a few seconds she had the cover plucked off, had pulled some sort of wire loose in there and switched it over to something else. Then replaced the cover, retrieved the Starfleet PADD and had the two connected by their external ports. Making one wide PADD out of it, that she held with one hand.

Then tapped for maybe three or four seconds at the Vulcan side of the thing before looking back up at him.

"Very well. Proceed."

Trip glanced back and forth between her and the double-PADD thing she was holding for a second.

"You hacked it already?"

"Yes."

Trip blinked.

"You _hacked _it already." He said, to be absolutely clear here.

T'Pol's eyebrow popped up, to make clear he was wasting her time with all this…

"Right." He said, off balance. "Yeah, okay…uh…we need about, uh…"

He fumbled with the PADDs in his hands, trying to retrieve and make room for his own, from his uniform pocket. Then spent a moment scrolling through something there…

"About one thousand Thor orbital anti-armor rounds and one thousand mining rig laser rods." He said, reading from his PADD. "That's item number 17084B and 23905A, stock number 16-01Z and 354-98G."

T'Pol tapped away busily at the PADD.

"And three one hundred-megaton fission warheads. That's item 01045B and stock 27-47G. And three AGM-44 Wasp missiles. 29055K and 71-44E."

T'Pol tapped the items into her PADD without question.

Then looked up at the Captain. With the eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know." He said, smiling shyly.

"The munitions are MACO ground assault ordnance." She said. "They serve no useful purpose in space combat."

"Well, we'll see about that." He smirked.

"And nuclear missiles are extremely ineffective, comparatively, when you have photon torpedoes available…"

"Look, just trust me. We used to play with this at the Academy all the time. Well, in _simulations _anyway..."

"Play with what?"

"It's…look, let's just get everyone together first." Trip said. "I honestly don't know if I have to nerve to go over this more than once."

T'Pol returned her attention to the PADD.

"One moment." She said, tapping away at it for a while. Then disconnecting the two, pocketing her own and handing the Starfleet PADD to him.

Trip looked it over.

"Huh." He said. "That's…pretty good. And quick."

"Of course." She said.

Well, okay then…

"Alright, that's only half of it." Trip said, frowning. "Getting the supply req through is one thing. And most of this stuff is loaded on shipping pallets automatically. Getting the actual gear through forward inspection is the hard part."

"The supply officers there can be expected to examine the equipment critically at the forward shipping platform."

"Uh…that's right."

T'Pol waited patiently, hands comfortably folded at her back. Waiting for him to get to 'the hard part'.

"Okay, I've got to ask." He said, fretfully. "Have you had to…? I mean, did you ever…?"

"Forge supply requisitions and smuggle Starfleet munitions through inspection?"

"Yeah, that."

"No."

Trip studied her, eyes narrow.

"You sure? Because that sure looked like something…"

"Captain, if I had ever done such a thing, I would never admit to it."

"So you _have_."

"Certainly not."

Trip fidgeted a bit.

If he was ever going to figure out how to get a straight answer out of this woman…

"You do know that if you had, and you admitted it to me, there wouldn't be much I could do about it?"

"I would assume not. Unless I were to provide details specific enough that you could effectively render charges, which I would not do."

"So why don't you just admit it then?"

"Admit what?"

"That you've done this before."

"Violate Starfleet and United Earth laws concerning…?"

"Yes, T'Pol. That."

"I have never done that."

Trip stared. Gritting his teeth a little.

"Okay, fine. I give up."

"That is wise."

"Let's just go."

* * *

><p>Stepping out into port corridor, Deck B, Trip's PADD immediately chirped. He ignored it at first, still wrestling with his frustration over this aggravating Vulcan's habit of completely getting over on him every other time he…<p>

But, wait, yeah. That was probably important.

So he took the opportunity to sigh, expelling a little of his frustration before giving it a glance. Expecting someone had sent him a text update. Or maybe some reminder he'd posted in there for himself a few weeks ago to double check maintenance logs for…

Whoa. What the hell?

His attention snapped to T'Pol, who was just shutting the holo-chamber behind him.

"Uh…Alice?" He said.

"_Yes, Trip?"_

"How long have you been online?"

"_One hour, seventeen minutes."_

T'Pol was looking at him now. With that stone-cold face again.

"And what's this report on my PADD, Alice?"

"_Trip or Commander T'Pol instructed me…"_

"Wait." He said, quickly. "'Trip or Commander T'Pol'? Which one?"

"_I am only aware of one Trip or Commander T'Pol, Trip."_

Trip's eyes flittered back and forth for a second, trying to figure _that _one out.

"Captain," T'Pol said. "I believe Alice adapted to my possession of your override authorization by assigning me a dual identity. If you will review the report, you will see that this apparently granted me your computer override authority as a result. I instructed Alice to report this to you once I left the holo-chamber, and to revert my access level and identity to their previous state at that time."

Trip was already rubbing his forehead, eyes closed.

"Okay. For crying out loud…" He said. "Alice, offline. T'Pol…I probably should have warned you. You can't leave Alice online like that."

"You cannot? Why?" She asked, curiously.

Trip started scrolling through the report Alice had forwarded to him. Studying it carefully.

"Because she's a language processor." He explained, as he read. "So she's constantly expanding that root language she thinks in. The more you interact with her and the more input she receives, the more she has to expand. So she needs lots of time offline to process all that. Leave her online long enough and she'll eventually start burning out the system. That happened once already. Wasn't pretty."

T'Pol found herself…disquieted by that. Artificial intelligence programs had consistently proven unstable in practice. And Alice seemed more and more to constitute that very thing. At the least, one step too far in that direction.

The Humans should already know this. Vulcans had long since given up the attempt to develop one. It was her understanding that Humans had as well…

"Like this." Trip said, pointing at his PADD. "When she told you it was 'logical' to assign you this 'Trip/T'Pol' identity."

T'Pol's eyes widened slightly.

"I'd have to ask Song, but she probably ran through the whole Vulcan language the last time she talked to you. Picked up the base language matrix there and started talking to you in Vulcan. Except…Vulcan that she translated into her root programming language, then into English Standard. And then _that's _adapted to each person she talks to. So you can imagine how that adds a whole new layer to just about every bit of processing she does now…"

"She included a transcript in her report?"

"Huh?" Trip said, glancing at her. "Uh…yeah. Why?"

"I…was simply curious."

"Oh. Well," He said, after a second quick look. "The point is, when she goes offline she can adjust her root language. Kind of like defragging her hard drive or something. Anyway, she runs a lot smoother if you take her offline when she isn't needed."

"I see. I will be sure to do that from now on."

"Well, Operations checks at the beginning of each shift to be sure she's offline. But, yeah, it'd be better if you did. Actually, it'd be better if we could figure out how to get _her _to do that _herself_, but she doesn't seem to get it."

T'Pol nodded. Hoping to encourage him to continue focusing on interacting with her. Rather than reading the report.

But he returned his attention to it.

"Captain." She said, quickly. "You indicated that you intended to meet with the senior staff. And you have orders from Admiral Coleman to review."

"Right." Trip said, distracted.

Still reading the report. With the transcript attached to it.

T'Pol struggled for a moment, trying to determine some subtle method of pulling his attention away. Before…

Then he suddenly thumbed the PADD, tucking into his uniform pocket.

"Okay, you go get your intel team together and meet me in the conference room. I'll get the senior staff up there and then we'll all go over our…well, as much as I hate to say 'battle plan', I guess that's what we're doing."

"Captain…the report I asked Alice to forward to you…"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Alice doesn't handle security around here. Just my personal stuff. And my PADD, which yeah, I guess I ought to pull her off of. The holo-chamber thing was just for fun. We don't do anything but training sims in there."

T'Pol looked confused.

"Alice threatened to notify security at one point."

"Well…yeah…but they probably would have just laughed at you when they got here. Although, Benning would have probably thrown you in the brig, come to think of it, just for trying to break into something."

"I see. I thought…the holographic technology in evidence in the chamber…"

Trip suddenly got it. And grinned.

"T'Pol," He chuckled. "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize."

"What do you mean?"

"That's not secure. I wasn't serious about…well, _before _when…look, you can scan that all you like. Vulcan High Command really _does _already have access to that stuff, so I don't care."

T'Pol stared at him.

"You have expressed concerns on more than one occasion…"

"Okay, look. There are some things on this ship you're not going to be allowed to poke around at. Even if you _are _technically assigned to us. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. Most of our _crewmen _don't have access to that stuff."

"If the holographic technology is not what you were concerned I would access…then I am unaware of anything else that…"

Now Trip was staring at her. Smirking slightly. Humored.

So. Of course.

She had never been _presented _the opportunity to be aware of…_that_.

"If not the holography, then what…?"

"The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions, T'Pol."

That was…frustrating. She suppressed it, of course, but…it was there…

"Look, I'm sorry. I know that's frustrating…"

T'Pol almost twitched.

"…and I guess it may not matter in the end. If I'm right, you'll get to see it soon enough. But, honestly, let's hope it doesn't come to that. Because if it does, it means we're in big trouble."

"How big?"

"Well…big enough that I'd have to ask Alice for a word with more syllables than 'big'…"

"Considerable."

"Well…maybe something with a little more _threat _to it…"

"Apocalyptic?"

"…okay, yeah. Something like that."

* * *

><p>Song was going over the casualty report confirmation when the far right display screen on the console blinked, trying to get her attention. And she didn't mind one bit, considering the grim business that form represented.<p>

As ridiculous as it was to have to confirm that, yes, she was serious when she'd reported those twelve men were actually dead…well, yes, it did actually have to be done. She supposed someone, somewhere, must have accidentally submitted the wrong list to the wrong office at one point or another. And she was sure there must be a joke about that floating around somewhere in the universe.

Tapping the display over there to bring it into view turned out be a good thing, though. The _Tempest _was topped off on deuterium and associated necessities. They'd even stocked the galley, it looked like. The last of the munitions and other secure gear hadn't been shipped yet, still waiting on the Captain to submit the reqs. But the engineering crew from Celestial was reporting they were down to the wiring, practically.

Heck, they might actually break dock sometime in the next few hours. That was pretty good.

The bridge door opened behind her, but she didn't pay it any attention. Probably a steward delivering a snack to someone, as everyone up here but her had been on duty for at least eight hours…

"This is the bridge. I know it's dumb but I'm actually required to show you where it is when I tell you you're not allowed in here."

Um…what?

Song turned around. Commander Benning and Major Tulok, the Vulcan agent.

"Benning." Song said. "I thought I told you to hit the bunk. And, not to be rude or anything, but what's _he _still doing on my ship?"

"Commander," Benning said, frowning. "Let me introduce Major Tulok. Our newest security officer."

Song cocked her ear at the Tactical Officer. "I'm sorry, _what _now?"

Benning just held up the PADD he was holding. Holding it up for review…

Song tossed an eyebrow up. For emphasis.

"You're kidding." She said.

Benning just shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Who's bright idea…?"

"Coleman."

Song's eyes rolled up a bit, and she groaned. As if someone had hit her with something stupid. Which, really, someone had.

"Benning…" She groaned.

"Not my fault, Song."

"Does the Captain know?"

"He hasn't ordered us to fire on the station, so…I don't know."

Song huffed a little, frowning and looking back and forth between the two men.

Then held up a hand. "Fine. Introduce him to Sisco and get him off the bridge."

"You got it." Benning grinned, turning to Tulok. "Come on this way, Major."

"Who is Sisco, Commander?" Tulok asked.

"That's the shiny new badge on your belt. Shipboard Security and Communications…"

"_Captain to the Bridge."_

Song quickly tapped _her _shiny badge…

"Song, go ahead."

"_I've got secure reqs on the board. Submit them to Central Supply and recall the crew. Then meet me in the conference room. Captain, out."_

Song glanced over at Benning. And they shared a look.

Because, yeah, that was a little…abrupt…

"And that's what it's for." Benning said, turning back to Tulok. "It's like a portable intercom system. With a built-in universal translator and personal locator…"

"_This is the captain. Alpha shift senior officers, report to the conference room. Major Tulok and Subaltern T'Lea, report as well. That is all."_

Song got to her feet quickly, standing at the console to submit those reports and call the crew back aboard. Ready to dash to the conference room when she was done.

Behind her Benning had started frowning again.

"Song, I get the feeling…"

"Yup, shore leave's over alright."


	14. Chapter 14

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

On Deck A, in the main conference room, the display table was unusually busy. Several animated three dimensional models were in play, as well as two separate tactical maps and a number of floating screens presenting a wide variety of divergent data. All of it zooming in and out of prominence as Captain Tucker touched upon it all in the course of the briefing.

"And here…" Trip said, calling forward the system tactical. It jumped atop the other displays and suddenly enlarged in a manner anyone unfamiliar with the technology may well have found threatening. Hence, Subaltern T'Lea's hesitant step backward when it did so.

"_Enterprise _is here." He said, pointing out the small, white dot floating on the edge of the system. "Contrary to orders, she's slowed enough that she's practically parked out there, waiting for us to drop off to her. So our first order of business is getting out there quickly, so she can be on her way. We've held her up enough."

On the periphery of the system display, a white chevron blinked just beyond the edge of the map…

"_Discovery_, heading in at max warp, ETA 14 hours." He said. "And _Rodger Young_, here at Proxima. And our Neptunes out on system patrol. These are all the Starfleet vessels we have in or near Centauri."

"Now, we have a nice collection of UES survey, science and freighter vessels." He said, indicating the scattered light brown blips on the map, arranged in a rough semi-circle just inside the edge of the binary system. "But…I don't want to disparage them by estimating how effective they'll be in combat."

Trip glanced back over the tactical map, making sure he hadn't missed anything. And giving everyone a moment to be sure they'd taken the situation in. Because it wasn't a very good situation. And he needed to be sure they got that.

But just to be sure…

"Throw a half dozen Orion interceptors at us and we'll eat them alive." He said. "A Klingon battle cruiser…maybe he'll hold his own for a while. Five or ten Birds of Prey and a Warbird or two, though…"

He just shrugged.

"And that's assuming we're looking at the diversion everyone's expecting." He said. "If it's Rommie's main fleet heading this way…intel would suggest as many as thirty ships. Six separate packs of five Birds, with a Warbird leading each. And probably one or two more coordinating from the rear."

He tapped the table, shrinking the system map and calling up the sector itself.

"Worst case scenario, the main fleet rolls in here and rides right over us. And straight on into Sol. By the time our fleet at Vulcan starts warping for home they'll already be burning Earth and killing every Starfleet asset in the system."

He tapped that display aside for moment, so everyone could see him.

"So. Coleman knows this. And he needs confirmation on what exactly we've got out there before he reports to Fleet. And…because he's a career Admiral, he's not going to take the initiative here. He's going to expect some dumb Captain under his command to do that, so he can court martial them if there's nothing out there but one or two Romulans. Or a sensor dummy they dropped just to get a ping."

"And that's why we've been assigned to deploy a couple of sensor relays a few light years out, to replace the ones Rommie took out. I'm not even going to show you that because that's not what we're doing. Son of a bitch didn't even bother putting the relays on our supply manifest."

Around the table, on the far side, the Alpha shift senior staff stood at ease. None of them betraying anything in particular. None of them wanting to be the first to object to any of this.

The Vulcans, of course, off to one side, looked almost bored. So who knew what _they _were thinking.

"But…" Trip said. "This is where things get fuzzy. Since I'll be talking about everything we're going to be doing against clear orders, I need to be sure everyone here is onboard with that. Especially since I intend to do a lot more against clear orders than anyone's expecting me to. I've got this crazy idea about maybe coming out of this alive. So speak up, if you're gonna."

No one said anything. Though there were a couple that glanced this way or that, no one had anything to say.

Trip frowned.

"Well, I guess I better leave that option open then. Since I haven't got to the crazy part yet."

He tapped the display again, calling up the supply requisition order. The one being filled at that moment over at Central Supply, aboard Celestial Station.

"We've got a few things we added to our supply req, courtesy of our new Vulcan security officers. And to be clear, yes, they hacked the supply req and, yes, we're stealing a hell of a lot of very expensive equipment from Celestial. From MACO and Starfleet, in fact."

Another tap at the display and several pieces of odd looking military ordnance floated up and expanded. He indicated one in particular, to begin with.

"MACO AGM-44 Wasp missile." He said. "Wide area saturation projectiles. It's got a very sturdy delivery system than can shoot out explosives in atmosphere far enough to cover a ten kilometer area. With a little modification, sitting on top of a photon torpedo impulse engine, it can throw out whatever you like in vacuum about as far as you want it to. Namely…"

He tapped again, an odd looking device enlarging to shove the Wasp missile aside.

"The Terradyne Industrial Mining Rig laser rod." He said. "Another very sturdy component, that just happens to fit comfortably in the AGM-44's directional deployment housing."

He tapped another display forward.

"And the 'Thor' orbital light anti-armor round. It's just a plain iron rod with an attitude thruster on the back and a sensor on the front. MACO mark a target, anything on the ground that an orbiting ship can't otherwise see, then drop these from orbit about a hundred at a time. It finds the target, orients on it and just falls on it. From orbit, that's enough to destroy anything but a tank. And even then only if it has a really good hull polarization system."

Trip began tapping various parts of the three devices on the screen, dislodging them from the things they were attached to and dragging them together.

"Take the attitude thruster and sensor package from the Thor…attach it to the laser rod…load the laser rods aboard the Wasp's delivery system, which you'll have to remove first…"

From the mass of displays below, he pulled an easily recognizable photon torpedo casing…

"Load the whole thing in a photon torpedo shell, leaving nothing but the propulsion system…making sure to remove the forward casing…"

He tapped the resulting…object. Enlarging it for review.

"And you've got a two gigajoule nuclear pumped x-ray laser missile." He said. "Fire out three of these on approach, forward and to both forward flanks. Follow up with a plain old fission missile right behind each one. The Wasp delivery system shoots the guided laser rods out in all directions and you detonate the nukes right in the middle of each batch of rods. That activates the laser rods, destroying them in the process, but by then they already have targets. You can hit anything within twenty thousand kilometers with maybe…two or three hundred individual laser strikes. On each target, all at once. Depending on how many targets you're looking at."

It was quiet for a moment, with everyone taking that in. Then Benning leaned forward, propping himself up on the table to peer closely.

"Captain," He said. "That's…clever. And we played with that at the Academy too, but…it's crap. Doesn't work."

"It does, actually…"

"No. No, sir. It doesn't." Benning said. "You can hit a lot harder than that with a single phase cannon shot. Heck, maybe even an old plasma cannon…"

"Except you're dispersing these laser strikes across the target's shield, instead of any particular focal point."

"Well, sure…shotgun lasering. But that only matters…"

"If you're hitting that shield all at once. All at the same exact time."

Benning considered that. Frowning.

"Okay. Okay, that'd hit a shield system pretty hard but…I don't see how it's worth all the trouble. You can do as much with one or two solid phase cannon shots."

"At how many targets? At once?" Trip pointed out. "We're talking about hitting them _all_. X-ray lasers within just this spectrum, at just this frequency. Now, you've read the intel on Rommie's shields. You tell _me _what'll happen."

Benning rubbed the stubble on his face, having still not taken the opportunity to shave. Or sleep, which caused him to have to do the math in his head a little slower…

"Damn." He said. "Captain, that'd…well, it would knock their shields right out. _All _of them. Maybe even…"

"Maybe even penetrate the hull in the process." Trip said, seriously.

Benning met Tucker's eyes. And stared for a moment. Because they were probably the only two in the room that fully understood what that meant…

"That would…" Song said, hesitantly. "That would be…pretty bad…if you got a few of those lasers through and hit a few places along the hull…"

So maybe Song got it, too.

"You'd fry everyone anywhere near that." Lieutenant Shran announced. "Cook them. And the atmosphere would burn in there, too."

Well, damn.

"Indeed," Tulok said. "If multiple x-ray lasers managed to penetrate shields and strike the hull, they could penetrate the hull as well without necessarily causing a hull breach. In fact, it would be preferable if they did. As it were, they would superheat the atmosphere. As well as irradiating the remaining…"

"Okay." Trip said. "I know. It's not very pretty…"

"And this is why high-powered x-ray laser systems are prohibited." T'Pol said. "Banned by agreement with all signatories to the Coalition charter and most other…"

"Yes, I know." Trip said, more firmly now. "But we don't have any treaties with the Romulans that I know about."

Everyone was quiet then.

"This is what we're doing." Trip said. "And this is your opportunity to step off. Besides all that…forget what I said about getting out of this alive. We probably won't. _Maybe_, but…it's not all that likely…"

"Captain." T'Pol said. "This may all be entirely irrelevant. In order to be effective, the weapon's detonation point must be within twenty thousand kilometers of all its targets, correct? That requires a detonation point well within the fleet formation. And the _Tempest _must fire relatively close to that detonation point, or the Romulans can be expected to simply destroy these devices before they are able to deploy. Whether they realize the threat they represent or not."

"Birds of Prey don't carry phasers. They're not going to hit a photon torpedo casing."

"Warbirds do." T'Pol argued. "And they can be expected to."

Trip hesitated, but…

"We'll get close enough."

"How do you intend…?"

"The first rule of Project Mayhem, Commander."

T'Pol stared. And the tension in the room elevated quickly, she noticed.

But it was time to put this to rest. So…

"You have cloaking technology." She announced. "That is Project Mayhem."

The room seemed somehow to grow even _more_ quiet and tense with that pronouncement.

And, to her surprise…the Captain grinned slightly. Sadly, perhaps, considering the topic of conversation. But nonetheless.

"If you say so, Commander." He said, with a nod.

T'Pol blinked.

What was _that _supposed to mean?

"Alright, that's it." Trip said, addressing everyone in attendance now. "The next thing I need from you all is the hardest."

He swept the table, clearing the cluttered mass of holographic displays from in front of him.

"I'm not taking anyone into this that hasn't volunteered." He said. "But I'm not handing out the details, either. I'm leaving it to you give me a list of everyone in your department, including yourselves. Those who've volunteered for a suicide mission, against orders from Starfleet Command, as opposed to those who've got some sense. We'll be dropping off the more intelligent crew members with the _Enterprise _before we head out for this."

"Sir…" Someone piped up quickly.

Trip looked. And found Ensign Crenshaw raising a polite hand.

"Yes?"

"If we _do _manage to get out of this…?"

"I'll make sure you get your field promotion, Ed." Trip said. "In fact, if you're putting your name on the dumbass list, then I'll go ahead and do that now."

"Then I guess I'm in, sir."

Trip nodded.

"Anyone _else _here as stupid as I am?" He asked, gesturing widely.

Hands went up all around, he was proud to see. All of them. Even if a couple _were _a little hesitant. Because that just meant they had some sense.

Except the Vulcans. None of those three raised a hand.

"So, you'll be bowing out of this then." He said, to T'Pol.

She turned to share a look with her team, one at a time, to be sure. Then nodded back to him.

"We will participate." She said. "However, we respectfully…"

"You'd rather skip the 'dumbass' part." He guessed.

"Yes."

Trip nodded.

"Okay." He said. "Our Vulcan crewmen here are going to head out to Celestial station and ensure our gear gets through inspection. The rest of you go find out how many people you've got in your departments who're smart enough to opt out of this. Report back to me when you have. And let's arrange things so none of them have any contact with the _Enterprise _or her crew until we leave them there."

"Sir." Song said. "The _Enterprise _isn't in on this?"

"No." Trip denied, shaking his head. "Not a bit. And I don't _want _them in on it. Them or anyone else, until it's too late to stop us."

"Well…how are we going to leave the…non-volunteers with them, then?"

"You remember 'The Hunt for Red October'?" He asked. "When Ramius faked a radiation leak so he could abandon ship?"

Trip looked around…then realized no one in the room seemed to know what he was talking about.

"Wait a minute." He said. "We haven't had that for movie night around here? I can't believe it. It's a classic. I thought for sure…"

"Sir, what?" Song asked, confused.

Trip frowned. "Ramius was a Russian submarine commander in the late nineteen hundreds. Or…_fictional _submarine commander, anyway. He and some of his officers were going to defect to the United States with the ship, the _Red October_. So to get everyone else off before he did, he faked a radiation leak. Surfaced, got them all off, pretending he was going to scuttle the ship and go down with it..."

"So…we're going to fake a radiation leak?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"While we're docked with the _Enterprise_?"

"That's the plan."

"Will that work, sir?"

"Should."

* * *

><p><strong>Alpha Centauri Defense, Central Supply<br>****Celestial Station, Proxima Orbit  
><strong>**_(Two hours later)_**

T'Pol stood before the automated souvenir vendor, seemingly examining the wide variety of Proxima-themed snow globes, floating pens and wall decorations. But as it was, the transparent facing of the vendor, through which the items might be viewed prior to purchase, was highly reflective.

Aboard a Vulcan docking station, or any other structure that might house one, such a vendor would sport a non-reflective viewing surface. The logical purpose of the viewing surface being, of course, to allow an unobstructed view of the items available while simultaneously securing them. On a Human station, on the other hand, a high sheen on a transparent surface was seen as an indication of cleanliness.

And so the transparent window was reflective and clean. Allowing her to observe the reception desk of Celestial Station's Central Supply office behind her, across the waiting area. Without being _seen _to observe it.

Major Tulok appeared beside her after a moment. And looked through the window of the automated vendor himself, as if to determine what had captivated her attention.

"There is nothing here we have not seen before." He said. "I recommend simply adding to your collection, rather than attempting to purchase a new or unique item."

And so she knew that he'd completed his reconnaissance and had found nothing of concern. The general layout, personnel compliment and security setup of the supply office were all precisely as the _Tempest's _Tactical Officer had indicated.

So they would precede as planned.

The station worker that Subaltern T'Lea had employed earlier had already accomplished his portion of that. Arriving in the waiting area little more two minutes ago, sitting down on the bench behind her and eating a sandwich. Then leaving the container he'd carried his lunch in lying on the bench when he departed. The bomb was housed there.

The automated security system in the area had almost certainly identified the container as something left behind, adjacent to a secure area. And so it had already been tagged as a possible threat. But as it contained nothing that could yet be _registered _as a threat no alarms had been sounded, no one had been notified and it presently consisted only as something tagged within the security system's memory. In case that might be important later. Which it would be.

In two minutes Major Tulok would be in position, loitering at the public access door to the Central Supply office. And the simple vinegar and sodium bicarbonate components of the bomb would be allowed to merge. Once pressure within the plastic water bottle that held them built to sufficient levels, approximately two minutes later, the bottle would burst. With some measure of force.

Not enough to injury anyone. Unless they happened to be holding the bottle at that moment. But enough to disperse the sample of thorium powder they'd retrieved from the _Tempest's _chemical stores.

With the container already tagged as a possible threat, the simple soda bomb within it exploding and the relatively harmless low-level alpha-radioactive thorium powder scattered as a result into the air of the waiting room…that be more than sufficient to provoke an alarm from the automated security system.

The area would be locked down and security would be summoned, along with the requisite Hazmat teams. The result being a tangled mess that would take at least an hour to sort through. Leaving Major Tulok trapped on the other side of the access door, within Central Supply, where it would seem to all appearances that he'd simply taken refuge, startled by the mild explosion.

Given proximity and time, he could then hack the Central Supply local computer system remotely, via his own PADD. A simple matter of…

"Commander."

Subaltern T'Lea.

T'Pol turned, an eyebrow already raised to indicate her surprise and disapproval.

The Subaltern had received clear instructions, after all. She was not supposed to return to the area, her part of the plan already having been accomplished.

"T'Lea." T'Pol said, being more mindful of _not _referring to one's rank in public. Considering the circumstances. A slight glare set to remind T'Lea of _that_.

"I recommend we abort." T'Lea said.

That was unexpected. So T'Pol indicated that as well, with a slightly higher uptick of the already raised eyebrow.

"As I returned to the _Tempest_," T'Lea explained. "I noticed one of the security officers for Central Supply returning to his post. He was Vulcan. I recognized him as a classmate of mine from an introductory algebraic solutions class, approximately thirty-four years ago."

T'Pol turned to face Subaltern T'Lea more directly now. What did _that _have to do with…?

"I must admit at this time that, once I'd received intelligence clearance to conduct background and security checks on my own initiative, I did so somewhat frivolously at first. I suppose that in my youth I found the power inherent with that to be somewhat…exciting. Illogical, of course, and regrettable."

"T'Lea," T'Pol said. "Is there a point to this exposition?"

"Indeed." She said. "One of the frivolous and illogical security checks I conducted at that time involved Stevet, the Vulcan security officer in question. I was surprised to find that he was suspected to be a melder. As you recall, this was considered a matter of some concern in those days. Moments ago, I met with Stevet and confirmed this."

"You spoke to the security officer?" T'Pol asked, tensely.

"I did. He has agreed to aid us. We can expect the items we are here to secure to be transported to the _Tempest's _cargo bay in approximately twenty minutes."

T'Pol immediately glanced over and signaled to Tulok, where he loitered near the Central Supply access door. And he began wandering casually across the waiting area. To retrieve the bomb and disable it in the public restroom.

T'Pol herself turned away and began walking as well, forcing T'Lea to follow. Leaving the waiting room and abandoning the mission.

Because the young, inexperienced and apparently unintelligent Subaltern had effectively compromised the entire operation…

"Commander," T'Lea said, pulling alongside. "As I have said, Stevet…"

"You have violated mission integrity and disobeyed orders, Subaltern." T'Pol said, sternly. "As a result…"

"Stevet is a melder, Commander." T'Lea argued. "He was able then to verify my claims and realize the significance of my request."

T'Pol continued walking…but her steps slowed, after a moment. As she considered what Subaltern T'Lea had said.

Until she stopped. And _seriously _considered the matter.

The Central Supply office was still within view. So she turned to look there, nearly expecting to see something of an uproar breaking out, as security scrambled to respond to some as yet unidentified threat…

The Vulcan security officer behind the counter was the only one there who had taken notice of them. And he merely gazed passively across the waiting room at them for a moment, before returning to his work.

T'Pol regarded Subaltern T'Lea again then.

"That is excellent work, Subaltern." She said. "You have shown both initiative and the ability to recognize beneficial opportunities to the completion of mission objectives, when they present themselves. You can expect this to be noted on your next evaluation."

"Yes, Commander." T'Lea said.

Showing no pride or pleasure at the praise she'd just received, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)**

Trip and Song carried on the discussion they'd been having, along the walkway overlooking the cargo bay. On their way to gather Shran and whatever 'dumbasses' she'd managed to scrounge out of her department, to brief them on the work they had ahead of them.

"Well, I just have a hard time understanding how you can justify…" Song was saying.

Trip interrupted. "Song, you said yourself you were willing to go along with this."

"Well, yes sir." She said. "I am. And if I were Captain and…some kind of freaky engineering genius who could pull a scheme like this out of her ear…I'd do the same thing."

"Then I guess _I'm _having a hard time understanding how _you're _having a hard time with this."

"Well, aren't you supposed to be some kind of Christian or someth-…?"

Trip stopped walking, jerking his head around quickly to see if anyone else was in earshot. In case they might have heard that. Then frowned and glared at Song, hands out to his sides.

"Jeez, Song!" He exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"

"Well, it's not like you _hide _it or anything." She frowned back.

"I don't want it _getting around_, either! My commission with Starfleet is already kinda hanging by a thread these days…"

"That may not matter in a couple of weeks, Captain."

"Well…okay, but…that's not the point!" He frowned. "There are some unwritten regulations about that sort of thing. You're kind of expected to be _discreet _about it."

"Captain, it's not like you're knocking boots with one of the officers."

Trip frowned even more, already turning around to lead them back along the walkway again.

"It's pretty much the same thing, Song, as far as Starfleet's concerned." He said. "Don't ask, don't tell. Sex, religion and politics. They don't want to know you have any of that. And they only do anything about it when you're dumb enough to run your mouth..."

"_The point is_…" Song said, rushing to catch up with the long-legged Captain again. "How do you justify burning a few hundred Romulans alive…?"

Trip stopped again. Eyes closed, wincing.

"Dammit, Song." He said, painfully. "Do you have to be so…?"

He gestured vaguely with one hand. Be so…_that_.

"Well, it's true." She said, shrugging.

Trip just looked at her, shaking his head. "You're pretty cold sometimes, you know that?"

"And, _that_." She said. "_That's _what I'm talking about. You're the last person in the galaxy I'd have ever expected to do something like this. You can't even _talk _about it without getting…_squeamish.._."

Trip's brow furrowed, and he frowned again. "Okay, you want me to be _not_-squeamish? Dead is dead. How's that? The Romulans aren't going to care _how _we killed them about two seconds after we do."

"Well…okay." Song said, nodding. "And that makes sense. It's just that…"

"You don't get how a Christian could say something like that?"

"Yeah, I guess. Doesn't seem to fit the profile."

"Okay." Trip said, holding up a finger for emphasis. "Christian perspective. Since most or all of the people we're going to kill are going to go to hell, they're _really _not going to care how we killed them. And those that don't, they still won't for the opposite reason."

Song stared.

Like he'd just said something extremely crazy. Which…he kinda had.

Trip shrugged. "You asked for a Christian perspective on this…"

"I didn't, actually." She said. "And…kinda wish you hadn't shared that with me, Captain."

Trip turned and started walking again, smirking.

"Keep that in mind then, next time you can't figure out what's going on in my head. You probably don't want to know. And, besides, isn't that better than 'dead is dead'? At least in my version, some of them might go to heaven."

"You think Romulans go to heaven when they die, sir?"

"Kinda of a whole other discussion, Commander."

Song followed for a while more, saying nothing. Then…

"Just so you know, Captain, I'm keeping that Order 104, Section C form handy."

"Yeah, I know, Song."

"Because you're a little crazy, sir."

"You've mentioned it."

In the cargo bay below, just as they were about to pass across it's length and reach the exit to the engineering department, the forward door opened. And Commander Benning rushed in, with two security officers hot on his heels.

"_Clear the floor!" _Benning yelled, dashing halfway across the cargo bay to politely shove one crewman to the side already.

Trip and Song both drew up short, turning to grasp the railing and look over at all the commotion.

The other two security officers down there had started grabbing crates and anything else that stood nearby, shoving and even _throwing _them out of the way…

"Benning!" Trip yelled. "What the hell is going on down there?"

Commander Benning didn't answer, though a quick glance at least verified he'd heard him. But he was too busy shoving the last two crewman working the cargo bay away from the center of the room…

…where a whining sound had suddenly begun to rise, with the accompanying glitter of blue light here and there, mid-air in the middle of the cargo bay.

Trip drew back, releasing the railing in surprise.

"_Alert! Security breach, Deck C, cargo bay. Unscheduled transport. Security teams to stations."_

It only took a second for the whine to reach its crescendo and begin rapidly to fade again. As the blue light accompanying the matter transport flared and faded away as well.

Revealing a rather huge and varied stack of crates, nearly filling the entire cargo bay. Tall enough that the uppermost crate was at least a foot higher than Trip's eye level, even as he stood up on the walkway.

The entire mess almost immediately collapsing and spilled loudly across the bay to impact the forward wall. Which wasn't very far, as the stack was already large enough to fill the center of the room. Two of the crates did manage to flip over and land on the walkway, though. Close enough that Song danced quickly to the side to avoid a nice bruise.

Trip stared in amazement. Because there was only one matter transporter rig within a million kilometers, including the surface of Proxima, that was large enough that it could have done that. The rig on Celestial Station, in the Central Supply department.

He pointed one finger at the humongous pile of armaments, components and military ordnance. Hesitantly, though…because he wasn't yet completely convinced it was really there…

"Okay." He said, carefully. "Now…how the hell did they do that?"

Song was staring as well, mouth open a little.

"I…I have no idea." She said.

"Because that's a pretty neat trick."

"Yeah, it…yeah." Song said, nodding.


	15. Chapter 15

**Tempest**  
><strong>Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)<br>Personnel Quarters, Deck C**

Commander T'Pol followed the steward off the rear lift of the vessel, leading her small team into the corridor that awaited them there.

"Right here, ma'am." Steward Jenson said, indicating the first door on the left, immediately at hand. Then tapping the panel to open the portal for her.

T'Pol glanced within. And found a double bunk on the far wall, directly across from the door.

That was discouraging. As any other Vulcan in that situation, she did not find the prospect of sharing quarters with anyone else but immediate family members to be at all agreeable. And even then…sharing a bedroom would be intolerable. So she considered presenting an eyebrow to the steward for a moment…

She didn't, of course. Clearly some sacrifices would have to be made here and she trusted the Humans required none that weren't necessary. So it would not be logical to object to what was, objectively, a small matter.

But the steward either detected…or perhaps _expected_…her disturbance.

"Yes, as you can see, it's a double." Jenson said, apologetically. "I'm afraid it's the same for your quarters, too, Major Tulok. All our officer's quarters are taken or I'm sure you'd have been assigned one of those..."

"Temporary quarters are all we require." T'Pol said. "This will be sufficient, steward."

Jenson nodded and accepted that politely. "Alright, ma'am. You can code the door from the panel inside and consoles in both quarters should be hardwired for security access in about twelve hours. I'd show you around but it's fairly standard…and I assume, if these are to be your personal quarters, you'd be more comfortable _without _someone who didn't live there poking around."

T'Pol nodded, as some form of acknowledgement was apparently expected.

"That is…considerate, Steward." She said.

Jenson nodded in return. "Very good, ma'am. You'll find your issued gear on your bunks. If there's anything else you need, you can comm us any time…which, by the way, you'll notice intercoms in your quarters and elsewhere on the ship…but we don't use them much. We rely on the Sisco system for comm. It's not standard issue but it's fairly easy to pick up. You'll find a sort of user's manual on that with your issued gear as well, I believe."

T'Pol didn't bother glancing at the unit on Tulok's belt, to politely confirm she understood. She simply nodded, in order to be done with the orientation and begin availing herself of her new quarters. Everyone on the team, she included, were well overdue for meditation and, for that matter, a mere moment's peace.

A proper meditation room of some sort would be preferable but she did not expect that would be available on a predominantly Human vessel. And inquiring about the availability of anything similar enough to pass would likely just present the steward with a need he would undoubtedly feel compelled to address…

So she nodded again. "I understand, steward. That will be all."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, nodding in return and already stepping back to be on his way. "And welcome aboard the _Tempest_, ma'am."

T'Pol nodded a _third _time as the Human steward finally excused himself politely and disappeared. And she was already aware that the constant non-verbal communication and forced emotional expression required in interacting with Humans, as with any emotionally expressive species, would prove taxing in the long run. So she was somewhat relieved when they were left to their own devices at last.

She turned to Tulok. "Orient yourself to your quarters." She said. "We will rest and meditate while we have the opportunity."

Tulok entered his room next door immediately, leaving T'Pol to lead T'Lea into their own.

As she stepped into the room, the absolute lack of Human scent struck her immediately. So that she found herself suddenly aware that she'd practically been awash with it up to that point, and for quite some time. Indeed, she was slightly startled to find that she carried the scent _with _her into the room. The stewards must have scrubbed the room quite thoroughly before assigning it to them.

The fact that there was only one other door in the room caught her attention next. Which indicated there would be only _one _restroom available. So she stepped there first to confirm that, pausing for a moment at the door in order to allow T'Lea to politely find something else to pay attention to. A quick examination there found that it would serve its purpose adequately and that, thankfully, they didn't seem to be sharing the room with the _adjacent _quarters. That, she knew, was often the case aboard Human vessels.

That would have proven to be simply too much to bear. But there still remained the fact that both she and T'Lea must share the restroom. Normally a very uncomfortable situation, to say the least, but one they'd had to adjust to many times in the past. Unfortunate that they had to do so yet again here as well but…so be it.

Returning her attention to the room, she found T'Lea was busy programming the door panel. She had already tapped the console in passing, bringing it online, so that a quick glance at the display showed, to her mild surprise, that the operating system there was Vulcan. The standard Vulcan Space Command personal operating system, in fact, with which she was familiar enough. She found it curious that a copy of that was even to be had here, and that whoever had prepared the room had installed it to the console.

Folding her hands at her back she stood and examined the rest of the room more thoroughly. In case anything else interesting leapt out at her, requiring her attention. Two standard bunks, one atop the other, with a small pile of issued gear awaiting them each…which apparently included several sets of Starfleet uniforms. Operations uniforms, according to the broad, crimson red stripe across the shoulders and upper chest.

As she understood the situation, she and her team had been assigned to the _Tempest _as security officers…but that hardly constituted a formal transfer to Starfleet itself. But perhaps the ship's supply simply had no other clothing to offer beyond standard duty uniforms.

The Sisco unit caught her attention next, sitting among her issued gear. Taking that in hand and examining it critically, she confirmed her suspicions there. It was entirely hand-made. Likely pieced together by the ship's own engineers and supply officers. And so, not general issue just as the steward had said. In fact, not likely something Starfleet was even aware the personnel aboard this vessel utilized.

A consequence of assigning a career engineer to a command position, she mused. It was most likely that Captain Tucker had designed the device himself, if not at least having played a large part in that.

The carefully folded brown linen next to her issued gear required examination next. But T'Lea had already moved to the upper bunk and retrieved hers. And T'Pol was admittedly surprised to find what it contained.

Candles. Several of them, all unscented, as quickly became clear when they were uncovered. She'd have surely detected…or…rather…

They _were _scented. Very lightly, just barely enough to detect. Something soothing, though she couldn't immediately identify it. She was surprised to find the scent quite agreeable now that she was aware of it. Subtle enough indeed that they would be perfect for meditation.

And with the candles, issued to both she and T'Lea…and Tulok, presumably…a rolled, cushioned mat. To sit upon during meditation, obviously.

She shared a look with T'Lea for a moment. The crew of the _Tempest _had rather gone above and beyond the minimum expected of them to make their transition comfortable. They had, in fact, displayed remarkable consideration.

This was quite unexpected.

* * *

><p>Once they'd availed themselves of the opportunity to meditate and adjust themselves to the situation, they met formally again in T'Pol and T'Lea's quarters.<p>

And began the process of critically examining the environment as both security and intelligence officers. The environment aboard the _Tempest_, that is.

Obvious points of interest and consideration were delineated first. Lieutenant Talla Shran, an Andorian native, acting as Chief Engineer of the ship, for example. A Starfleet officer of course, but hardly a citizen of Earth. And Earth still technically governed Starfleet. Thus a glaringly obvious security concern, most especially considering she held an actual command position.

And she was Andorian. That being no small point to begin with.

Likewise Keyla Song, a citizen of Alpha Centauri. A Human colony but one long since having declared its independence. The cordial and mutually cooperative relationship with United Earth that the Centaurians may have enjoyed quite notwithstanding, that presented a somewhat startling breach of the most fundamental security protocols.

Even the Captain himself. Once a member of Terra Prime, an entity now recognized as a domestic terrorist organization. Captain Tucker's apparent renunciation of association…even his cooperation in effecting charges against Terra Prime at some point in the past…that was hardly sufficient to warrant dismissing this crucial, principled point.

Vulcan Space Command would most certainly never have granted a command position aboard a prototype vessel employing restricted, experimental technology to someone like that. To even suggest as much would be perfectly absurd. He wouldn't have been allowed to serve in the VSC in any capacity at all, in point of fact.

And these were the top three commanding officers in the chain of command aboard the _Tempest_. What that suggested concerning Starfleet's security was…troubling, to say the very least.

Even they themselves were soon to be granted security access from the consoles in their personal quarters. And not only were they not United Earth citizens nor Starfleet officers…they were Vulcan intelligence agents.

It was…fascinating. And disturbing.

Major Tulok opined on the matter first, once it had been openly acknowledged.

"I begin to discern the inherent weakness in what we have to come to recognize as Starfleet's most remarkable and defining characteristic." He said. "Their ability to gain allies so easily from those they initially come into conflict with."

"They grant those allies far too much trust and far too readily as a result of it." T'Pol reasoned.

"Yes, precisely." He nodded. "Andorian, Centaurian and Vulcan. These are three obvious examples aboard this vessel. United Earth has suffered some measure of conflict, be it active or passive, with each of them before accepting them as allies."

T'Lea noted the other obvious example. "And Terra Prime as well, considering Captain Tucker's prior association with them. They are, in fact, still considered a criminal organization to governmental authorities, and a domestic enemy to military forces. Yet Captain Tucker had his commission reinstated, and was granted a command as well."

"I have considered this." T'Pol admitted. "And I now find the existence of organizations such as Section 31 much more understandable. They are practically required."

They mulled that over quietly for a moment. Until T'Pol spoke again.

"A matter worthy of significant contemplation." She said. "And I recognize now the critical point that there are some, at least one that I am personally aware of, in the upper echelon of Starfleet command who still consider Captain Tucker to be untrustworthy. That is extremely suggestive. But a further point occurs to me that is preeminent."

Both looked to her then, curiously.

"The high likelihood that there are Romulan agents or sympathizers acting aboard this vessel." She explained.

Tulok thought that over. And found he harbored some disagreement.

"I do not perceive the likelihood of that as being particularly high. Possible, perhaps, and worthy of acknowledgement, but unlikely nonetheless."

"The _Kolinahr _suffered as much." T'Pol pointed out. "And I also would have characterized that possibility as extremely remote. Prior to the engineering department being sabotaged during combat and the partially successful attempt to detonate a high-powered explosive device aboard the _Tempest_."

Tulok…reconsidered.

"Then I must admit that I find the idea disagreeable and almost outrageous." He admitted. "Yet were it discovered that agents of some sort were to be found among this crew…perhaps my surprise at that would be very easy to suppress. I suspect my logic may not be up to the task of properly evaluating this possibility with true objectivity."

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow in appreciation of that admission. And found herself lacking in confidence as well.

"Much like the Humans themselves." She said. "The Romulans continue to behave in ways difficult to comprehend. And yet consistently, surprisingly, effective in what they do regardless. To a degree often enough that defies common logic."

"That is the nature of chaos." T'Lea said.

Which was surprising. So that T'Pol and Tulok turned their attention to her then.

"Excuse me." T'Lea said, meekly. "It is something my philosophy instructor was prone to say. Meaning that many things beyond logic are, of course, difficult to accurately perceive as orderly and are thus difficult to predict logically. Yet, often enough due to the nature of chaos, nevertheless productive. Which, of course, seems on the surface to _defy _logic while, in fact, it does not."

T'Pol considered that for a moment.

Rather critically.

"That is a very interesting insight, Subaltern." T'Pol assured at last. "I will meditate on that, when the time to do so presents itself. For now I believe it most productive for us to focus on our duty here as security officers. And as agents of Vulcan Intelligence and High Command."

"We are to report to Commander Benning for duty assignments in less than one hour." Tulok suggested.

"Correct." T'Pol agreed. "We will then be better prepared to determine the most productive manner in which to utilize our position here to the benefit of Vulcan interests. Even as we aid these Humans in resisting the Romulan incursion to the best of our ability."

So, to business then.

"Subaltern," T'Pol ordered. "Following the resolution of our first duty shift you will continue with your efforts concerning the computer systems aboard the vessel."

"Understood, Commander." T'Lea acknowledged. "I find that I am already confident that security access will render hacking the various operations systems a trivial matter. My long term goal being to establish detailed remote access once I have reduced oversight and control of key ship functions to the Sisco system. I project completion of my examination and alteration of that device prior to reporting for duty assignment."

"Very well." T'Pol acknowledged. "Major Tulok, I trust your experience and so expect you will make use of whatever opportunities you perceive on your own. Nevertheless, focus on ingratiating yourself with the security detail and Commander Benning."

"Certainly, Commander. And what of Commander Song?"

T'Pol considered that matter seriously, however. It was readily apparent how dangerous a risk that was to take, despite the potential benefits it might offer.

But risk was justified when the reward was deemed anything greater than equivalent.

T'Pol nodded. "Very well. So long as you perceive a successful seduction to be achievable, you may pursue that. However, be mindful of the risks involved. She is not merely Centaurian but Human."

"Of course, Commander. Likewise, I would be remiss not to caution you in the same manner regarding Captain Tucker. Not only Human but I perceive suffering from multiple instances of unresolved emotional traumas…"

"Excuse me, Major." T'Pol interrupted. "It is not my intention to seduce Captain Tucker."

Tulok's eyebrow leapt at that.

"It is not?" He asked. "It seemed obvious that this was your intent."

T'Pol's brow furrowed at that.

Or would have, at least. Had she not forcibly _suppressed _that impulse.

"He is the captain of the ship." She denied. "Naturally it behooves me to acknowledge and pursue at least a mutually beneficial professional relationship. And considering that he is Human, that practically requires a pseudo-familial relationship. Adding a romantic element to that, however, is not only unnecessary but most likely counter-productive."

"Then I clearly misperceived your interactions with him." Tulok said…

…with no discernible sincerity at all, T'Pol was rather irked to note.

"Nevertheless," Tulok continued. "I would recommend that course, if you believe you can navigate his emotional issues effectively."

"I will bear that in mind." T'Pol relented. As much to end discussion on the matter as anything else. "Continue with your current efforts, prepare to report to security when it is time to do so and we will meet again here at 2400 local hours. And though I acknowledge it is likely unnecessary to say so, be mindful of your surroundings and any potential threat both to yourselves and to Vulcan interests. Specifically this ship and crew, considering the current situation."

The two acknowledged their orders and moved immediately to follow them. And T'Pol with them, making quick use of the restroom to don the operations uniform of the ship.

Returning then to the console she'd abandoned in order to conduct the briefing, so that she could continue her research on Charles Tucker with what little time remained before she must report for duty.

* * *

><p>In the Tactical Officer's Station, off the Deck B forward Brig, Commander Benning sat behind his desk…a little…bewildered.<p>

"Well…" He said, after he'd had a moment to get over that. "I actually didn't mean to post you on _security_."

And now the Vulcans were confused.

"I don't understand." T'Pol said. "According to the orders given by Rear Admiral Coleman, we are to be assigned to security."

"Yes, but that's just to justify your _being _here." He pointed out. "It'd be a little silly assigning your door guard and point checks, considering your qualifications. And, hell, your _rank _for that matter."

"If not security, in compliance with the orders given, then what are our duties to entail?"

"You're spies." Benning said, simply. "Vulcan Intelligence. So…something related to that. I was hoping _you'd _help _me _figure that out."

"I…see." T'Pol said. Uncertainly. "Have you had the opportunity to review our Starfleet Personnel Records Jackets?"

"Uh…yeah." Benning said, surprised. "How'd you even know you had one? I just found out about that myself."

"Alice mentioned mine previously. I assume the same holds true for Major Tulok and Subaltern T'Lea."

"Well…" Benning said, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. "Assuming all of that is somewhat accurate…and Starfleet got that information straight from Vulcan Intel…then you've definitely got skills I can use here…"

He turned then slightly, slapping the upright console display on his desk over to where he could review it properly. Tapping at the controls on the desk, calling up that very information.

"As I recall…right." He nodded, reading something there. "You've got basic demolitions training and a heck of a lot of tech skill, Subaltern."

"That is correct." T'Lea acknowledged.

"I don't suppose you know anything about arming and disarming fission warheads?"

T'Lea considered that. "It is a widely varied and technically diverse field. I cannot say with certainty that I have anything significant to offer in that area. Intent and implementation heavily effect basic design and manufacturing methods. And further subtleties present themselves across practically all species and even particular nations and organizations. In fact, individual factory specifications…"

"Never mind, I'm convinced." Benning grinned. "Head on down to the cargo bay and see if you can pitch in there. That's where I'm heading next. We don't have a lot of people qualified to deal with fissionable munitions, so I'll take everyone I can get."

"Very well. I will…offer what aid I can."

"If that doesn't suit you, you can always help with assembling the deployment package." Benning assured. "Shran took a closer look at that and she seems to think the captain may have overestimated everyone else's technical abilities. She needs people who know how to work a decoupler. It's not something you can just take a crowbar to and our engineering staff is…a little shorthanded right now."

"I understand." T'Lea nodded. "I will endeavor to be productive."

"Outstanding."

And she departed immediately. Leaving Commander T'Pol and Major Tulok with the daunting prospective of finding some manner of being productive themselves.

Benning squinted at them thoughtfully.

"I may have a job for one of you, if either of you think you can handle an interrogation." He said, after a moment. "I don't know much about the intelligence field but it seems like the sort of thing you'd know at least something about."

T'Pol understood immediately.

"The crewman from the _Kolinahr _who aided the saboteur and fired upon your security officer." She guessed. "You require support with your interrogation of him."

"Not just support, I'm afraid." Benning winced. "I have to admit I'm a little over my head there. Interrogation and questioning I can usually handle. But a Vulcan…I think that might be out of my league. I'm guessing the same basic methods won't apply."

"Knowing only a little about Human methods in that regard, I think nonetheless that is likely to be the case." T'Pol admitted.

Benning nodded. "Right. That's what I thought. So…?"

"I believe Major Tulok would be most qualified for that assignment."

He nodded again. And turned to Tulok.

Who considered that carefully for a time.

"I will require a private setting, Commander." He suggested. "As I understand, Humans grant a number of rights and protections to those who have not yet been judged guilty of any crime they may be charged with. I assume then that a private, unsupervised interrogation is not allowed, in order to minimize the possibility that such rights and protections…"

"I'm not asking you to beat a confession out of the man." Benning warned. "And that's not something I'm even going to discuss, much less allow."

"That is not my suggestion." Tulok assured. "And I would assume that Vulcan authorities grant many if not all of the same basic protections in similar cases. Nevertheless, an entirely private interrogation would be most effective."

Benning frowned. And furrowed his brow. And chewed his cheek thoughtfully, mulling that over.

"We are a very private people, compared to Humans." Tulok explained. "An interrogation represents both an intrusive and evocative interaction. The subject would be extremely uncomfortable the more witnesses were privy to that interaction. With our people, that would only result in far greater reluctance to reveal information held in privilege. Whereas with a more emotionally expressive species, certainly one more prone to stress related behavioral…"

"Alright, I get it." Benning frowned. "But this man _is _afforded particular rights and protections here, Major. He's a suspect in custody of Starfleet security. And Starfleet is beholden to United Earth law. I'm not even sure I can justify your participating in the interrogation to begin with. You're only _technically _assigned to security here."

Tulok considered that. And soon found a solution that was agreeable to him.

"And what would be the repercussions if I conducted this interrogation without your knowledge or approval?"

Benning's brow truly did furrow then. And he was bewildered yet again.

"What do you mean?" He said. "He's locked up in the brig. How do you think you're going to do that?"

"Hypothetically." Tulok offered. "If I were to do that, what would be your response?"

Benning frowned. "I'm not going to just turn a blind eye…in fact, never mind. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I'll find some other way to make use of you."

"I understand." Tulok nodded. "And I will of course comply with whatever requirement. But nevertheless I find myself curious concerning the point. So, hypothetically, what repercussions would there be?"

Benning…didn't know how to answer that. And he found the question more than a little intimidating. Which was starting to make him angry.

But…still…

He huffed. "I guess there wouldn't be much I could do about, as long as you didn't _beat _the man."

Tulok nodded at that. "Very well."

"But it's not going to happen, Major. I'm not going to just turn my back and let you interrogate a prisoner without any oversight at all."

"I understand." Tulok acknowledged.

"Just so we're perfectly clear here." Benning insisted.

"We are, Commander."

"Okay, good."

Tulok glanced casually over at T'Pol. And they shared a look for a moment.

Which Benning almost missed, despite being more than a little focused on figuring just what the hell that had been all about.

He was pretty sure it was obvious, but he was having a hard time accepting the Major actually meant to try to sneak into the brig somehow and interrogate the prisoner. Without, in some way that Benning couldn't fathom, _not _being observed and recorded doing so.

It was the ship's brig. That'd be pretty damned hard to pull off.

"Commander Benning." T'Pol said then, returning her attention to him now. And forcing him to frown at her for a moment before sparing Tulok another irritated, confused and very suspicious glance.

"What?" He snipped. A little more than he intended to, really.

"You have my Starfleet Personnel Records Jackets on file as well, is that correct?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Alice mentioned…possible inconsistencies?"

Benning flickered a quick look back at Tulok one more time before focusing on T'Pol fully. Just in case and just to be sure the Vulcan knew he was under suspicion.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me." Benning admitted. "Same for all three of you. But I would guess that has as much to do with Starfleet trying to fill in the blanks. Not to mention your jackets were probably thrown together quickly, without any real attention to detail…"

"That is what I suspect as well." T'Pol said. "If we are to determine how best to utilize my and Major Tulok's expertise, then the most logical first step would be to rectify some of those inconsistencies. To better delineate our skill sets for review. You have the files there on your console, do you not?"

"Of course."

He'd just accessed Subaltern T'Lea's, after all. It should be obvious…

T'Pol stepped forward casually, moving around the desk to peer at the console display. So Benning frowned again and tapped the console controls, calling up all three sets of files side by side.

He watched her eyes flicker quickly over the data. Then raise a single eyebrow at what she saw.

She stepped closer, nearly leaning directly over his shoulder to point at her own file.

"I see what you mean, Commander." She said. "Much of this information is contradictory or simply incorrect. More consideration should have been given in compiling this data, if it was seriously intended to be used for reference. For example, I was not present on Vulcan in March, 2152, but rather I was assigned to Fargos Prime. Thus the files does not accurately inform of my presence during the Orion attack, much less my role in helping to repel that raid."

Benning stared.

"Fargos Prime?" He asked, surprised. "You were there for that?"

T'Pol faced him, curious. "Indeed, I was. In fact, in accordance with the overall intentions guiding my assignment, I helped arrange two microwave data bursts delineating Orion interceptor warp characteri-…"

"Wait…that was _you?"_

"Not only myself, of course, as I was part of a team assigned to surveillance…in an unrelated matter. You aware of the particulars of the incident?"

"I was _there _for it." Benning said. "Right in the middle of it, in fact. The _Hugo _took the first hit. But we knocked three of those bastards out of the sky…"

"You were on the _Hugo_, Commander?"

"Hell, yes." He said, proudly. "One of only three merchant birds still able to warp out of there on their own after the fight."

"That is quite impressive." T'Pol said. And indeed, she seemed quite impressed. "As I understand, the Orions have yet to attempt another raid of the system even to this day. It has become something of a cautionary tale among them. Due in large part to the performance of the _Hugo_. I assume, if you were the tactical officer there as well, then it is fair to credit that to you."

"Well, I did my part, sure." Benning said. With as much modesty as he could muster. "But, hell, those guys didn't have any idea what they were in for. I don't think they'd ever fought Humans before."

"I suspect not." T'Pol agreed. "I'm sure they would have utilized some measure of tactical coordination at the very least. If not simply choosing another more viable target somewhere else."

Benning smirked. "Well, like you said, they didn't try to hit Fargos again after that."

"Understandable." T'Pol mused. "But now I am curious. How did a private merchant ship officer come to be a Starfleet officer of some rank after only a few years? You are already a commander."

"Well, Starfleet was on something a recruiting roll at the time." Benning explained. "And…well, my name was on the net for awhile, because of Fargos. Got a commendation from the company CEO, as matter of fact."

"Starfleet offered you early promotion as an incentive, I assume."

"Sure. Transferred company credit right over to Academy on just about a point for point basis. Made JG right out of the gate. Only took a couple of tours to make Lieutenant, since I already had the experience."

"A wise decision by Starfleet, Commander. I think they have certainly benefited from your enrollment."

Benning scratched his cheek, shyly. "Well, I don't know about that. I do my duty, just like everybody else…"

That went on for a while.

T'Pol listening, expressing interest and generally being impressed with just about everything he said. And he had a lot to say, once he got going.

It'd been quite a while since he'd actually just sat around and talked about…well, _him_. With anyone. In fact, he couldn't remember ever really doing that…

So he went on and on.

Until he had that particular thought for the third time, how interesting it was that he was going on and on about himself like that.

Then he paused finally. For a moment.

Because something…

…was weird about that. Something, somewhere was vaguely insisting…something wasn't right about that.

Benning squinted up at T'Pol then. And she still looked interested. And impressed. Focused on him, waiting for him to continue. So…what…?

He didn't even realize, oddly enough. The thought didn't even occur to him. He just turned to look over the other side of the desk without any real inkling of what exactly he was looking to see.

What he was checking up on over there.

Until he saw, instantly, that what he was checking on wasn't there anymore.

Tulok was gone. And Benning hadn't the first damned clue when that had happened. Couldn't remember when he'd last seen the man standing there, even out of the corner of his eye.

He froze. Staring at the thing that wasn't there anymore.

Processing what had just happened.

And very suddenly realizing a few other things he'd for some-damned-reason failed to realize when _they'd _happened. Things like how T'Pol seemed to have confused Fargos Prime and Fargos Secundus a couple of times. They were completely different planets.

Or how she'd mistakenly referred to the _Templar _as the _Blue Heaven_. The _Blue Heaven _wasn't a company ship at all. He was pretty sure that was a North Star line, the company's chief competitor.

Or how she was supposed to have been conducting surveillance on Fargos political officials in Anten, which was a damned factory town. They barely had a mayor, if he remembered right. _Antelera _was the capitol city…

He turned to glare up at her. And he glared about as much as his pride would let him glare. Which was a lot.

T'Pol propped an eyebrow up at first…but she let it fall soon enough. Once it was obvious the commander has caught up with things a bit.

Then she straightened up again, from where she had been leaning in close. Quite a lot closer than she would otherwise ever have invaded another's personal space.

And she folded her hands comfortably at her back, awaiting whatever reaction the commander was going to have to being so blatantly manipulated.

It did occur to her, though. She'd only recently denied making use of such forms of manipulation, during conversation with Captain Tucker. Now that she'd actually done precisely that…it occurred to her that perhaps she made use of that general method more often than she'd realized.

In fact…she hadn't really been truthful. She hadn't _meant _to be dishonest, of course. Not about that at least. She truly hadn't realized.

But as Commander Benning began to move quickly and speak loudly, expressing his very negative emotional reaction to what had occurred…and it was quite the emotional outburst he was displaying…she considered and rejected the notion of correcting that when next she spoke to the captain.

It wasn't necessary for him to be aware of that, of course. Better that he continued to assume she didn't avail herself of such methods or possess any skill at them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Officer's Quarters, Deck B<br>**

Talla Shran reported to her commander's quarters. As ordered.

Keying in the override access at the security panel, granted to her as a command officer herself, in order to enter the room unannounced. Bypassing not only the lock but the common courtesy of having her presence in the corridor acknowledged and being formally invited in, as per Human custom.

She'd elected to conveniently forget about that 'Human privacy' thing for just long enough to appear in the center of the room, surprising Song both with her sudden presence and the oppressive glowering she leveled about the place from such a strategic position.

Because she intended to be pissy about being there in the first place. And this seemed a good way to accomplish that.

Song was in her underwear in the bedroom, in the process of dressing after having showered. Because she'd naturally expected Shran to key the buzzer and announce herself before waltzing right into her personal quarters.

In her panties, at least, that is. Her bra…not so much. And her hair was still sort of wet.

And she had her socks on already, which didn't make her overall appearance at the moment the least bit attractive in her own opinion.

The bedroom was only technically a bedroom, of course. More a sleeping area really, as there was no door. Only an open doorway leading directly in from the adjoining main room. The wall itself not a complete wall either, but a waist-high counter upon which she'd long since developed the habit of piling various reading materials and operations manuals.

None of which were stacked nearly high enough to offer any measure of protection from Shran's glaring. At her, where she stood shocked.

In her underwear. Mostly.

"Wha…?" Song stuttered, the officer's jumpsuit still held in both hands at about knee height. As she'd intended to begin the process of _wearing _it.

"Shran what the hell are you doing?" She finally burst out. "This is my…these are my…personal quarters…!"

"Reporting as ordered, Commander." Shran said. Coldly.

"I'm trying to get dressed here, Talla!"

Shran scowled. "If you expect me to _help _you dress you can forget about it. That's not in my job description."

"I expect you to wait outside until I invite you in!" Song snapped back. Still too shocked and, now at least, too angry to remember she still had her boobs popping out all over the place.

"Because I might be getting dressed!" She added quickly, once she remembered that. And fumbled with her jumpsuit in the effort both to hold onto it and snatch the bra off the bunk nearby.

Failing at both efforts and dropping everything. And only growing more angry about it all as a result.

"I was ordered to report to your quarters." Shran argued. "You didn't specify…"

"Wait out in the damned hall, Talla!"

"Fine." Shran said, turning to stalk back out the door again.

"_Don't open the door!" _

Shran turned back. Angry herself now at having been given entirely contradictory orders.

"How am I supposed to wait outside without opening the door?!" She demanded.

Song struggled into her bra. Finally. And stumbled a bit snatching up the jumpsuit she'd dropped. Because she was standing on it now.

But she spared a quick moment to snap back at the Andorian.

"You should have waited outside first! _Before _coming in here! Once I opened the door _for _you!"

Shran gritted her teeth, seething.

"I've already wasted ten minutes coming here and having this stupid conversation." She said. "Ten minutes I could have spent realigning…"

Song gave up with a huff. She let the jumpsuit just go ahead and dangle from her waist. At least she had her damned bra on now.

She stomped forward and…_snapped _her fingers at Shran. Loudly. Twice.

_*snap! snap!*_

Which was unusual enough that Shran startled a bit. And she instantly shut up, blinking at the utterly bizarre thing her commanding officer had just done.

"That's enough." Song said.

So Shran blinked. Because…her commanding officer had stomped up to her, half naked, with her jumpsuit hanging off her waist and actually snapped her fingers at her.

She began to suspect…she may have angered Song.

It certainly seemed possible that she had, anyway.

* * *

><p>Keyla Song had managed to find her shoes and put them on, so she was more or less fully in uniform at last. But she was no less angry than before. Just more precise in how she expressed it.<p>

"It's long past time you and I had this conversation, Talla." She said.

Tightly. With a tone that promised to brook no dissent.

From perhaps a foot away, directly in front of Shran. 'All up in her personal space', as the Humans would say. If she had anything vaguely resembling what Humans would call 'personal space'.

She had her hands on her hips even, in order to emphasize she was taking a position of authority. While Shran stood rigidly at attention before her, forced to keep 'eyes front' while her commanding officer was snapping in her face like that.

Shran wasn't cowed, of course. She wasn't even really sure what that meant, as she couldn't recall ever having experienced it herself.

"I'm not having this conversation." Shran insisted, flatly. Addressing the wall over Song's shoulder to all appearances.

"We _are _having this conversation…"

"It isn't your business."

"As executive officer of this vessel…"

"You still don't have to right to force me to speak about personal matters."

"I do when it negatively effects the performance of your duties, Lieutenant."

"It _doesn't _negat-…"

Shran stopped then. Biting that sentence off at the nub.

Because, yes. It had begun to effect her performance. And that of her subordinates. And her interactions with not only them but everyone else.

And, yes, negatively.

Not much, of course. But enough that it gave Song a viable _excuse_…

So…

She still wasn't having this conversation.

"No." She said, simply.

Simply and clearly. Making that point firmly, without any possibility of misunderstanding.

And Song got that. She stared right at her, from only a foot away. Stared _hard_.

Until she got it.

Got that Shran wasn't going to discuss this. No matter what.

Song nodded slightly then. More to herself than to Shran. Because, fine then. If that's how it was going to be, then…

"Fine." She said. "We break dock in half an hour. That gives you plenty of time to pack a bag."

Shran's eyes widened.

And forget all about 'eyes front'. Her attention jerked straight to Song's.

"What?" She asked.

"You heard me." Song said, coldly. "Pack a bag. Get off the ship. You're grounded."

"You…can't…go into combat…" Talla stuttered, her antennae already rigid and quivering. "You _need _me."

"No. Not like you are now. And not without even the possibility of resolving…"

"You can't do this without me." Talla insisted. "I'm the Chief Engineer of this ship, Commander."

"Downing's a fine second. And Crowley's…"

"You can't do that." Shran denied. Already falling out of attention, flailing a little in her attempt to wring some sense out of this. "You won't. You _need _your Chief Engineer."

"No, Talla. I really don't." Song said. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you but we can't afford an engineer who's mental state is in question."

Shran stared now, wide-eyed.

Stunned.

Her…mental state?

Had it…really gotten _that _bad?

Her mouth worked a bit. Trying to form words that her mind stubbornly refused to come up with. Until…

"Keyla…" She whispered. Almost pleading.

Song shook her head slightly. "No. I'm sorry, Shran, but this isn't a shakedown cruise anymore. We need a Chief Engineer we can trust on this one."

"I…can…I do my job, Keyla." She stumbled. "I _always _do my job. Trip _picked _me for this job…"

"And now he doesn't trust you. And neither do I."

Slap.

That was a slap in the face.

Not a _literal _slap perhaps…but it could not have had a greater impact if it had been. In fact, perhaps far less so.

Shran reeled, even stepping back a step.

"Wh…what?" She breathed.

Song didn't say anything. She just kept staring at her. Staring cold.

So…

Yes, that's what she'd meant. She'd _meant _that. There'd been no misunderstanding.

Talla…shriveled a little inside.

Or maybe…more than just a little.

"Make up your mind, Talla." Song said. "We're going to work this out…or even just see if it _can _be worked out…or you pack a bag and find a place at Celestial Station. I'm not going into combat with you like this. And I won't make the people on this ship go into combat…"

"Alright." Talla whispered.

Head bowed already. Her antennae even drooping notably.

"Alright what?" Song insisted, cutting her no slack at all.

"Just…alright." She said, tiredly. "I'll talk about it."

Song waited. And watched. Until she was confident that Shran was sincere.

Then she nodded.

"Okay." She said, firmly. "Have a seat. I'll get the brandy."

* * *

><p>Talla Shran was Andorian. So the brandy wasn't enough. Not nearly.<p>

It loosened things up a bit, sure, but that only went so far. As a general stereotype, Andorians were largely either working on something or sleeping at any particular point in time. Lounging around chatting amiably…that wasn't the sort of thing they were usually comfortable doing. Even recreational activities for nothing more than the simple enjoyment of it seemed a literally alien concept to most of them.

Talla was certainly the stereotypical Andorian in that regard. So it was brandy _and _an in-depth going over of the hastily scratched out plans Trip had dropped on them for kludging together nuclear laser missiles.

So they sat together at the work table in her quarters doing that. Sipping brandy now and again in the process of it.

Keyla had at least managed to convince her to take her shoes off somehow. She couldn't remember quite how, but she was fairly sure sitting there together sipping brandy, going over the scribbled schematic and wiggling their toes in the carpet would help things along.

_She _was pretty comfortable and chatty anyway.

"So why do the zhen even have a vagina then?" She asked, as she fiddled with the display screen. Dragging the various components she'd called up in order to try to match them with what Trip had illustrated on the plans.

Talla just shrugged as she peered intently at the screen. But being a little tipsy from the brandy she forgot to shrug like a Human and simply turned her antennae toward one another instead. An Andorian 'shrug', which Song found amusing.

"It would be strange if they didn't, don't you think?" Talla said. Shrugging yet again with her antennae.

"Yeah, okay." Keyla frowned. "But it doesn't serve a purpose."

Talla's antennae sprang up a little at that. She even tore her attention away from the schematic to give her a surprised, bemused look.

"I mean…" Song admitted. "Well…you know what I mean. The shen has sex with the thaan _and _the chan. Then they give the baby to the zhen. The zhen doesn't even get to have sex with anybody. So why would they need a…?"

"What are you talking about?" Talla frowned. "They have sex with the shen. That's how they receive the embryo."

Keyla glanced over at that. Then again, with a full double take.

"Huh? They what?"

Talla frowned at her.

"Why is _that _surprising?" She asked. "It isn't any different for Humans."

Keyla gawked.

"It's _completely _different!" She insisted.

"No it isn't. I know a little about Human biology. It's the same thing."

Keyla stared. Then her eyes flittered a bit, going over the mental image assaulting her mind now. Trying to figure how that would work.

And _why_.

"Okay, hold on." She said, squinting. Even raising one hand to insist everything remain firmly in place while she reasoned this whole thing out.

Talla waited patiently. Bemused again.

"No." Keyla decided at last. "The zhen has a pouch by then, over the lower abdomen. And the shen deposits the embryo into the pouch. That's not _sex_, Talla."

Talla just gave her a quirky frown. Loudly communicating the idea that she was being a moron.

Which Keyla wondered at immediately. That she'd picked up _that _particular facial expression from Humans somewhere. That was definitely _not _an Andorian facial expression.

"Yes, exactly." Talla said. With obvious dripping sarcasm. "And with Humans the male just deposits semen into the female uterus. That's not sex either."

"That _is _sex!" Keyla insisted. "And they don't…put it…not right in the _uterus, _Talla…"

"I know that, Keyla. It's the same with us. I was just making the point. And no, that _isn't _sex. Shen do the same thing with chan and thaan that you do with males. And just like with you people, there's a lot more to it than that."

Keyla could only shake her head, astounded.

"Okay, but…I mean…I can see a shan just putting the embryo in the zhan's pouch…but they actually have _sex _while they're doing that?"

"Of course."

"But you…I mean…how?"

Talla straightened up a bit to think that one over. And eventually frowned.

"I don't really know how to explain it." She admitted. "I suppose I could illustrate it mechanically. There are certain erogenous zones on the Andorian body that respond to stimulation…"

"Wait. No, I get _that_. We have women that do the same thing…"

"Human women are _female_." Talla argued. "Not shen or zhen."

"But _mechanically _it must be sort of the same thing."

Talla grumbled a bit at that.

"I suppose." She admitted. "Similar perhaps. But there are many differences. Maybe even as many differences between an Andorian shen and zhen mating and two Human females mating as there are between two females and a male and female. And also there is the transfer of the embryo to the pouch. Humans don't do that at all. So overall it's completely different."

"So, wait, that's really _part _of the sex? There's an actual sexual element to depositing the embryo?"

Talla stared for a short moment. Because she was apparently being stupid again.

"It's just like depositing semen into the vaginal canal in the first place." She said, frowning. "Of course it's sexual."

Keyla thought that over for a moment. Then…

"So which are you?" She asked suddenly. Before she'd really decided to ask.

"What?"

"Which one are you?"

_Talla's _eyes flittered now, trying to translate the question into something that made sense.

"You mean…shen or zhen?" She asked, uncertainly.

"Yes."

"Oh." Talla nodded. "Shen."

Keyla gawked.

Talla didn't notice that at first, because…

"You really couldn't tell?" She asked, uncomfortably.

But Keyla was…gawking at her. And she _kept _gawking.

Which…made her a little paranoid.

"What?" She asked, warily.

"You mean…" Keyla asked, uncertainly. "You've got the…you know, the 'thing'?"

"What thing?"

"You know." Keyla insisted.

Talla frowned. And even her antennae frowned, twitching a bit.

"I've got everything _you've _got, female."

"Right, but…you've got the _thing_. That you put the embryo in the…"

"Oh, you mean an ovipositor?"

"Right. Yeah."

"Of course."

Keyla gawked again.

So Talla smirked, because…

…she realized that was very funny.

And she just couldn't resist.

"You want to see it?" She grinned wickedly.

"Eew, no!" Keyla exclaimed.

Nearly falling out of her chair in the attempt to emphatically express that 'no' by pulling back a little too sharply. And because of the brandy.

So Talla laughed. Because, yes, that was very funny.

* * *

><p>"I was the one who found her." Talla was saying. Her eyes a little foggy from the brandy, staring out through the bulkhead at whatever place and time she remembered now.<p>

And she smiled drunkenly. Which is to say her antennae repeatedly failed to face one another quite perfectly in their attempt to express humor. Veering off and wobbling in random directions now and then instead.

"That's not usually the way it goes, you know." She said. "Usually the thaan finds a zhen and brings her to the others, so that they can win her over. But I found her."

Talla sighed wistfully. "She was very beautiful. Not…like a model or actress or…someone whose job it is to look beautiful…but very pretty and young and innocent. She was a data clerk and she worked on the open floor of a very busy office building. I couldn't imagine at first how she was still unwhole."

Keyla must have looked confused at that. Because Talla noticed and explained.

"Unwhole." She said. "When you are bound with your mates, only then are you whole. That's very important. But she was afraid of thaan. They frightened her. So that's why she had no quad and why I found her myself. She wasn't afraid of zhen."

She chuckled then, antenna nearly laying directly against one another. Despite the drunken wobble.

"She was terrified of Makiv at first. Until she was able to see us together with Belli. Then she wasn't afraid anymore. You should have seen her blossom then, when she was with us. She had an amazing sense of humor. We all loved her so very much. I remember…when she first sat with Makiv…and he stroked her hair. She lay her head in his lap while we talked and he…stroked her hair, so gently. I think I have never seen anything so beautiful as that."

Then she sighed.

"But, Makiv. Ah, Makiv. What a thaan he was. An irresistible, lovable scoundrel of a thaan."

She even moaned a little in appreciation, giving Keyla a quick, wicked look when she did so. So Song supposed he must really have been quite the thaan.

"Belli, though." She said, after a moment. Staring now up at the ceiling, recalling whatever memory evoked her appreciation for him. "A wonderful romantic. Very sensual and very sensitive. He could make you cry for the beauty of him."

She slapped that console suddenly, if rather drunkenly and off-target.

"You will have to remind me." She announced. "I have recordings of him. It will make you cry, I promise you. His music…oh, it could flood your heart like…a great…flood of…"

Talla waved one hand lazily in the air, as she sought the perfect word to express precisely what kind of flood it was like.

"…music." She decided.

Talla was…

A little drunk, Keyla figured.

Hardly slurring at all but…yes, a little bit drunk.

Keyla watched her gaze at the wall, lost in her memories. And while she couldn't quite imagine what it must have been like to be in that kind of relationship…what it must be like for an Andorian specifically…it was clear she'd loved them. As deeply as anyone she'd ever loved herself.

Which…perhaps wasn't saying much. She'd never really been the sort to get all that involved with _people_. They were an amusing and entertaining distraction now and again…and it wasn't as if she'd never been involved with anyone…but the head over heels stuff…

Yeah, not so much. And she didn't really find that prospect very appealing.

In fact, while she could empathize and relate somewhat _objectively_…she'd never really been 'attached' to anyone before. She hadn't even missed her own family when she transferred to the Academy. Hadn't really cared all that much about them when she was living at home for that matter.

Friends, lovers…all casual and comfortably so. Nothing earth-shattering there. So maybe she couldn't really understand what it must be like for Talla now.

"I'm the one that talked Makiv into taking them to Therin Park after I left." Talla said suddenly. Still staring at the wall. And not quite so wistful now.

"A beautiful place." She said. "Many gardens, waterfalls…ponds, with fish…and not only native to Andoria but imported from other worlds as well. Very popular. Very beautiful. I thought it might help ease the pain for Belli and Enya. It's hard to adjust to a mate going away for so long."

She blinked, suddenly seeming to remember she was there. "That was her name. Enya. Isn't that the perfect name for a zhen?"

Talla returned to staring at the wall. _Through _the wall, to the memories beyond.

For a while. Until the memories continued forward in her mind to their logical conclusion.

Therin Park, Song knew, was where the other three members of Shran's quad had died. A freak accident, of course. Nothing especially dramatic and no one really to blame for it. Which in a way just made it all worse somehow, she figured.

"The rest of you…most of you…have it so easy." Shran was saying. "It's very simple for you. But I still think it's better our way. Because you don't lose all your mates at once when you have three. When one is…lost, it hurts and it's terrible…but you can find another to take their place. And the others…you can grieve the loss together. And you're only _whole _with a quad."

Talla grew even more solemn, if that were possible.

"No one loses all their mates at once." She said, quietly. "That's not supposed to happen."

So Keyla figured it was time. She hadn't said much since Talla actually began _talking_. Only a muttered word of encouragement here, repeating something she'd said there. Showing interest and guiding her to open up. Asking simple questions, designed to evoke long, expositional responses.

She hadn't said anything at all in the last several minutes. Only listening and…simply _being _there.

But it was time to take a chance. Get to the core of the matter. And there was a real risk that Talla would pull back when she did. Draw into herself again. Throw all her walls and defenses back up…

"But you did." Keyla said, softly. "They were all three taken from you."

And Talla's antennae…drooped low. Lashing lazily back and forth. And, odd as it may have seemed, it was poignantly clear the pain she was feeling then. Even if her chin hadn't scrunched up a bit and her eyes glistened with tears, Keyla would have seen the pain in only that entirely alien expression.

"Yes." Talla whispered, with no small tremble in her voice.

"How does it make you feel?"

Talla shook her head slightly, eyes closed now.

"Unwhole. And desperate." Talla said, quietly. "And…afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Because I need…to be whole. I need…all the parts of me that I'm missing now. And I don't want to…"

Keyla waited, until it was clear Talla wouldn't finish the sentence on her own.

"Don't want to what, Talla?" She asked.

But Talla didn't answer.

Not at first. And not for a long moment.

"I don't want to…replace them with something…that doesn't fit. Something I'll regret binding myself to later because I'm desperate and needful now."

And she was meek and quiet again for a time. Until Keyla began to search carefully for some other way to draw her out, just a little more…

Then Talla surprised her.

"Like the crew of this ship." She said, suddenly. "That's what I'm afraid of. That I might do that or that I may already have. That I might have already become attached to this ship and crew in a way that just isn't healthy for a shen. Because I need to be whole and they can't do that for me."

Then she turned suddenly from the wall and took to her feet, with just a bit of wobbly effort.

Reaching over her head and stretching long and strong, a few joints crackling in the process. Before planting her hands on her hips, letting out her breath in a long huff.

"That brandy is good stuff, Song." She said, snorting a little. "I didn't think it would be that strong."

Talla stood there, hands on her hips. Gazing down at the floor, thinking. But the slight quirk of a grin at the corners of her lips, and the casual turn of her antennae, showed she was at least somewhat amused now.

At herself most likely. And perhaps as much at Keyla Song.

So Song sat comfortably back in her chair and considered the Andorian shen standing before her. And knew that she'd been quite aware of all her efforts to draw her out. Had been aware of it and allowed it to happen.

Even, now that she thought about it, very likely moving things along herself here and there.

"Hm." Song said, as she considered this.

That brought Talla's attention back to her. And the twinkle Song expected to find in her eyes was indeed there. So, yes, she'd been quite aware and had allowed this to happen.

So Song smirked back up at the woman…the shen…a little. A mild smirk, with no small humor and appreciation in it.

To which Shran winked. And no, that was not at all an Andorian expression.

"So…" Talla said, as she moved languidly to retrieve her shoes from the corner of the room. And seat herself in the chair again to don them once more.

"…if you're reassured concerning my mental state, Commander, I really do have a lot of work to do. And a lot less time to do it in now, thank you."

Song snorted.

So. Okay, then.

"Do you think you can do it without being quite such a raging bitch to everybody, Shran?"

To which the Andorian sighed dramatically.

"If you feel I must." She said, resigned. "But if you expect me to be someone _comfortable _for you pinkskins to fraternize with, then you ask too much."

"Something short of terrifying and loathsome will be quite sufficient, Shran, thank you."

Talla shrugged, unconcerned.

"I'll see what I can do, Commander." She said. "But…"

She paused, considering, even as she absently snatched the second shoe back up onto her heel.

"But you have to be careful." Song offered.

Shran nodded. "Yes."

"Okay. What can I do to help?"

Shran stopped again, looking at her with a little surprise.

"Helping me…trying to be…_part _of me…is the worse thing you could do for me." Talla frowned. "Just keep me busy, keep things professional and let me be a bitch when I need to. It'll take time but I'll…adjust. That is…assuming we aren't all dead in a week or two."

Song thought it over for a moment, but there really wasn't anything to think over.

"Alright." She agreed. "I get it. And I think we can trust you not to do anything crazy. Just being difficult to get along with…I can work with that."

Talla just nodded, and took to her feet again.

And tugged her uniform shirt snappily down into place again.

Frowning, hardening her eyes and tensing her shoulders a little.

"So if there's nothing else…?" She grumbled, gesturing impatiently at the door.

Song just tilted her head slightly in that general direction. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Good." Shran said. And walked…nearly stomped…to the door, through the door and out into the corridor beyond.

Leaving Song…feeling quite a few things at once. A little amused. A little sad. A little impressed, actually.

Funny how all her instincts insisted that she…well, do exactly the wrong thing here. Comfort Talla, touch her. Be close to her. Connect and…like she'd said, be a _part _of her.

For Humans, that's exactly what she should do here. For Talla, though…exactly the opposite. Even if that's probably what the shen felt like she wanted and needed more than anything in the universe…just like she'd said, it was the absolutely worst thing for her right now…

"_Benning to Song."_

Well. Crap.

Of course.

Barely finish putting out one fire and another flares up somewhere else. It's not like there was any such thing as _downtime _for an XO.

She sighed a little. A tapped her comm.

"Song, go ahead."

"_Can you come down to the brig for a minute, ma'am?"_

"Sure, I'm not busy." She said. Any sarcasm attached to _that _statement being entirely internal, thank you. "What's wrong, Richard?"

"_It's a little complicated, ma'am."_

Oh, now. Two ma'ams and a 'complicated'. Sounds interesting.

"Alright, on my way."

It took her a minute to find her shoes, though. Mostly because of the brandy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Enterprise  
><strong>**NX Class Cruiser (NX-01)**

Commander Hess gathered her shoulder bag and the small pile of PADDS, operations manuals and general schematics she'd managed to stuff in there. And with that mildly cumbersome load hoisted onto her shoulder, left the main aft observation room where she'd been poring over the lot of it for the last hour.

Hiding, truth be told, from the rest of the engineering staff while she did so. And from the command staff. And really just about everyone else who either seemed to need constant reassurance that she and her people were doing what they supposed to be doing…or having their own ideas about that that didn't quite mesh with reality. Because they weren't engineers and didn't know what the heck they were talking about.

If it were at all possible, she mused, it really would be better if engineering had its own ship. Then they could probably get things done without constantly being interrupted or, worse, micro-managed to death. And then maybe her people would be able to focus on getting the job done.

And an engineering-run vessel wouldn't be quite as likely to suffer the incessant little demands that made all the _real _work so much harder to get to. Like the hydrogen tanks in the chemistry lab flooding because someone had decided to clean inside the intake with a paper towel. And apparently didn't think it was a big deal that a small piece of it had torn off in the tube.

Any engineer even vaguely familiar with the system would have known that was going to clog the valve. Not to mention never being dumb enough to use a plain old brown paper towel to do that. They would have already fixed the minor leak that prompted whatever science geek to try to wipe out the tube in the first place.

How had they even thought that was going to fix the problem anyway?

And then of course you wouldn't have the captain constantly looking over your shoulder, making sure you were doing what you were supposed to, despite not really knowing what you were supposed to be doing himself. Because hydrogen tanks overflowing in the chemistry labs made it seem like your team couldn't even conduct basic preventive maintenance properly.

An all-engineering crewed starship, Hess mused. Or…maybe just an all-operations crewed ship.

That was an interesting idea. She should probably look into something like that. Play with the idea a bit. Assuming she had a few spare minutes to think about something other than assessing combat readiness for the umpteenth time…

Of course…

Well, yeah, that was a dumb idea. Sure, you'd have a ship that ran great and did its job in a perfectly exemplary manner. But, without science or tactical or…_something_…the ship's 'job' would pretty much be just to run great. You wouldn't have anywhere to go and nothing to do when you got there.

It was still a really nice idea, though. She'd sure take a posting on a ship like that. Maybe they wouldn't ever actually _accomplish _anything…but they'd do a really fine job of not accomplishing anything…

So Hess was distracted. Her mind wandered.

She wasn't paying much attention to what she was doing or where she was going.

Consequently she turned right at the end of the corridor and stepped through the hatch there, rather than turning left to take the lift up to the bridge to try to catch Malcolm's attention for half a minute.

Because he'd probably want know that the port torpedo bay power distribution assessment wasn't quite up to specifications. Really not a big deal and it wasn't off all that much, but it was the sort of thing he'd take way too seriously. So better that he have time to crack the whip on his folks about that _before _they actually got to Vulcan.

Ensign Masaro was just stepping out of the upper level second stage plasma accelerator maintenance area. So that's when she realized she'd wandered pretty badly off course and wasn't going at all in the right direction if she wanted to catch the lift.

Masaro startled when he saw her, fumbling and dropping the small bundle of tools he was carrying. Which, admittedly, was a little funny. So she stopped quickly, already in the process of rolling her eyes at herself and turning right back around again.

He was a cute kid. Eager and hard working…but he was kind of a screw up. And he got a hard time about it from just about everyone.

Hess wasn't about to laugh or even smile, though. She was pretty sure a general lack of self-confidence was Masaro's whole problem, so that wouldn't help anything. He was actually a pretty darned good engineer, when he wasn't screwing up.

She just stepped over there to help him collect the tools he'd dropped without making a fuss about it. Instead of doing anything that might embarrass him.

"Uh…sorry, ma'am." He stuttered, as she bent down to gather and offer a couple of things that had fallen just out of his reach.

"Not a problem, Ensign." She said, before nodding lightly at the door he'd just stumbled through. "Is there something going on in there I don't know about?"

"Oh." He said, startling yet again. Oddly enough. "Uh…no. I just thought…I'd better check the grid. I mean…I didn't have anything else to do right now…"

"I thought I had your team flushing out the coolant tanks." She said. "You're done with that already?"

"Uh…no, ma'am. I mean…we're just waiting for that second cycle. So I figured…I mean…"

Oh. Right.

Hess got it.

And at the moment she was the last person to give someone grief about sneaking off for an unscheduled break. Or just a minute or two to just catch your breath and be the hell _alone _for five minutes. Kinda what she'd been doing herself for the last hour.

So she grinned knowingly. "Relax, Ensign."

Masaro relaxed. Sort of.

"The other guys giving you a hard time?" She guessed. And realizing she still held the last tool he'd yet to reclaim, offered it to him while he decided how honest he wanted to be about that.

"No, not really." He denied. And he had all his tools again, so they both took to their feet.

But she was still pretty sure that's what it was. So she didn't push the matter any further.

"Alright." She nodded. "Why don't you get back to Deck E and finish up there. I know I've been working you guys pretty hard, so I'll see about getting you all a _real _break once we've run a general evaluation."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, quickly. And he was eager to get going, she could see. Probably due to being uncomfortable in any sort of one-on-one with the boss.

"Alright, get going." She said, nodding back at the door.

She lingered as he left, so as not to follow him out the door and make him even more uncomfortable. But once she'd lingered long enough she found him waiting for her in the corridor outside anyway.

And it took a while for him to get to the point and speak plainly…to finally get it across to her what he'd been doing in there…

Or what he'd almost been doing. What he'd thankfully decided at the last moment _not _to do.

…which was mostly due to her being unable to fully accept what he was saying to her. She had to question him a bit to be absolutely sure that she understood. And then a little more before she could really believe it.

There really wasn't much else she could do about that but summon security. And Masaro, again thankfully, seemed to have expected that. Didn't resist or argue about it.

He just waited with her, looking…defeated, a little scared and maybe a little ashamed.

* * *

><p>Hess stood at ease in the conference room, off to one side so as not to unduly interfere with the questioning.<p>

But whatever else could be said, Masaro was one of hers. So, yes, she'd damned well be here for this.

"Four weeks." Reed seethed. From directly across the table where Masaro sat. "You've been in contact with them for _four weeks _now."

"Yes, sir." Masaro said, miserably.

"Twelve separate communications, according to records. Some of them in excess of an hour. Two or three hours in a couple of cases."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you miss all the implications of Starfleet Intelligence boarding this vessel two years ago entirely for the express purpose of questioning you, Ensign? Did it somehow escape you that perhaps any further association with Terra Prime might be frowned upon?"

"No, sir."

"And I can only _assume _you are aware that officially pronouncing that organization a _terrorist _organization since then has rendered such communication something of an actionable offense? As in _court martial_, ensign."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet not only have you done that, you attempted to sabotage this ship…"

Masaro startled a little at that.

"No, sir! I didn't." He denied. "I…Commander Hess…"

"You had the tools _in your hand_, Ensign." Reed snapped. "And I've no doubt you'd have succeeded had Commander Hess not happened upon you in time."

"I…no!" Masaro denied again. Turning to Hess desperately for support. "Commander…!"

"Lieutenant." Hess offered, evenly. "Ensign Masaro admitted all of this to me, in the corridor. In private. _After _exiting the upper accelerator area without having sabotaged anything."

"And yet he was fully prepared to do so." Reed countered. "Prepared, capable and by all appearances in the very act."

"He was _abandoning _that attempt." Hess argued. "Decided _not_ to go through with it. _Before _I ran into him as he was _leaving _the area."

"That's not good enough, Lieutenant." Reed insisted.

"No, it's not." Hess agreed. "Ensign Masaro has already committed a number of actionable offenses. And he's prepared to face the consequences of that and offer his full cooperation."

She turned to meet Masaro's eyes, still looking to her desperately.

"Isn't that right, Ensign?"

Masaro nodded eagerly. "That's right. Yes, ma'am."

Hess nodded soundly. And looked back at Reed.

Lieutenant Reed was still furious. Still seething and more than a little too focused on how disgusted he was with Ensign Masaro.

"Malcolm." Hess said, carefully. "You already have everything you need to charge him. He's already confessed. And he's prepared to _cooperate_. So isn't that what we should be focusing on here?"

That got through to him. And Hess could see the realization strike home.

Malcolm's attention snapped back to Masaro immediately. And he wasn't seeing a traitor who'd risked the security of the ship so much anymore.

Nor the suggestion that he himself might somehow have failed to maintain that security, as Hess was fairly sure was the real issue here for him.

His attention was focused now. Penetrating and assessing. Because he was seeing all the information the Ensign was about to start giving him, in accordance with that 'full cooperation'.

* * *

><p>Archer scanned the PADD fiercely. It didn't say anything the two officers in front of him hadn't already said but…it helped having it actually in hand. Written down. On an official interrogation report.<p>

"I can't believe it." He scowled, before turning his anger on them.

On Commander Hess specifically.

"Exactly how close did we come to losing an entire nacelle, Commander?" He demanded.

Hess took a deep breath.

"Pretty…" She hesitated. "…pretty close, captain."

Archer _slapped _the PADD down, letting it bounce to a rest on the desk before turning away sharply. Hands on his hips, already starting to pace.

So, yes. The captain was about to flip out. And Hess couldn't blame him one little bit.

"Is someone going to explain to me exactly how this could have happened?" He barked. "Lieutenant, I was under the impression we'd decided to reevaluate a few things around here!"

Malcolm rushed to defend himself. "Captain, I don't think this is something we could have foreseen. We only just began evaluating the crew and you said yourself it was merely a formality. None of us really believed there was anything to be concerned about."

"Well, apparently there was!" Archer snapped. "How many _other _terrorists do we have lurking around this ship, Lieutenant?!"

"Sir, I don't think that's…!"

"Be quiet!" Archer barked, swinging about to face them fully again. "I want security stations, Lieutenant. Condition four. All points monitored and all weapons accounted for and secured."

"Yes, sir."

Archer swung back to Hess again, even more fiercely. "And I expect you to know exactly were every single engineer on this ship is from here out, Commander. Where they are what they're doing. This is the second time engineering's had a Terra Prime oper-…"

And surprisingly…

Or perhaps not really all that surprisingly…Captain Archer suddenly put the brakes on. And Hess was able to witness a fairly rare thing.

The captain abruptly cutting himself off in the midst of a full-on rant.

Typically that sort of thing went on until he was satisfied. And that usually took a while.

But…'Terra Prime operative', he'd been about to say. And the _other _supposed 'operative' from _Enterprise's _engineering department…everyone in the room knew exactly who _that _was supposed to refer to.

From the look on his face even the captain was shocked that he'd said that. Or almost said it. He tried not to show it but…yeah, it was pretty obvious.

So there was that awkward moment where Hess and Reed were forced to consider whether it would be wise to be the first one to say something now. And whether they had the courage to say what needed to be said here.

On one hand they'd been granted the rare opportunity to try to mollify the captain in the midst of what promised to be a pretty dreadful rant. And so avoid having to suffer it.

But on the other…that would require helping him recover from what he'd just said. Which was rather a tall order. Especially since both of them were pretty sure he hadn't read far enough along in the report to realize…there was a possibility he might not have misspoken at all.

Hess, to her great surprise, found _herself _taking the plunge.

"Captain…" She said. "I'm sure you didn't mean to say that, but…"

"Well, pardon me if I'm a little angry here, Commander." Archer argued.

"No, sir. I don't think you understand."

Hess gave him a moment to catch up to that. And to steel herself a little.

"What do you mean?" Archer asked, after that far too short moment.

"Sir…"

"What she means," Read chimed in. "Is that you might not wrong."

Archer looked back and forth between them. He _almost _understood what they must be trying to imply…but that didn't make any sense. So of course _that _couldn't be it.

"What are you talking about?"

"According to Masaro…his contact in Terra Prime indicated that Captain Tucker…"

Reed took a breath. Apparently needing to steel himself a bit as well.

"…that they expected Captain Tucker to complete some assignment of his own."

Archer squinted at that. Confused.

Willfully confused. Because to be otherwise would require understanding perfectly what Malcolm Reed had just said to him.

"What do you mean 'assignment'?" Archer asked.

"For Terra Prime, sir."

Hess rushed in, already concerned with how this was going.

"But, captain, that was probably just to encourage Ensign Masaro." She insisted. "He always looked up to Trip and he…"

"I'm not so sure, Commander." Reed frowned.

"Well, I don't believe for a second that Trip would do anything like that, Malcolm!"

"I would never have believed he'd join Terra Prime in the first place, Commander."

"He testified against them." Hess insisted. "Passed information on to SI. Probably helped stop a major terrorist action before it even got started. He saved lives, Malcolm! He's not a terrorist!"

Reed shook his head, scowling. "You didn't see him on Earth, Hess. When he was…_pregnant _by some alien who…"

"Alright, that's enough!" Archer broke in.

And gave them a both a moment to stifle.

A quick moment.

"What exactly did Masaro say, Lieutenant?" He asked, pointedly.

"Just that…there were other operatives…sympathizers really, I would suppose…with similar assignments elsewhere. I imagine we've heard about a few of them in the last twenty-four hours. All of them activated and given assignments to complete at roughly the same time."

"And that Tucker was supposed to be one of them." Hess supplied. "Which I can't believe for a minute."

"Also Ensign Heckles on the _Discovery_, who's already been confirmed." Reed argued. "And Corporal Haverly of the MACO, aboard Jupiter Station, who was caught in the act. That lends a bit of credibility to the claim, I would think. At least enough that it should be taken seriously."

"Captain Tucker just took on a Romulan Bird of Prey, Malcolm." Archer noted. "Defending a Vulcan cruiser that had already been disabled by them."

"After warping away, leaving them to come under attack again, sir."

"You can't be serious!" Hess exploded.

"Tucker doesn't quite have a spotless record regarding interaction with alien species, Commander." Reed argued. "Even before the…incident with the Xyrillians and his joining Terra Prime, he assaulted a Vulcan advisor on Archer IV. Would have killed the man, if he hadn't managed to miss with the _second _shot…"

"Enough." Archer said simply.

Not even barking now.

"That's enough, Malcolm." He said again. "I understand what you're trying to say but I don't think that's fair to Trip. The toxic pollen on Archer IV effected everyone on the team, including the Vulcan advisor. And his actions in the Centauri system may not have been very conventional…but he managed to save the _Kolinahr _and destroy the Bird of Prey. Losing about a quarter of his own crew in the process."

"I understand that, sir." Reed acknowledged. "I just don't think the possibility should be dismissed. At the very least we should remain aware of it."

"Noted." Archer nodded. "But we're not going to assume the worst about a man who was once the XO and Chief Engineer of this ship. And a good friend of mine besides."

"Of course, sir."

Well.

That wasn't good enough for Hess.

"Masaro's…impressionable." She insisted. "So I'm sure this Terra Prime contact just said that to encourage him. Captain, there's no other possible explanation."

Archer nodded. But he frowned as he did so.

And Malcolm…

"I won't believe Trip could be a part of this." Hess denied.

"Well, we'll keep it in mind." Archer said. "I don't think Trip is capable of that either but we're not going to just ignore the possibility."

Hess was suddenly confronted with the fact that…she didn't have any other real option but to just let that slide. She didn't like it, didn't think it was fair and just plain hated it. But there wasn't anything good to be gained by arguing it any further.

And it didn't really matter anyway. Considering the circumstances, if Captain Tucker _were _working for Terra Prime he would already have done whatever he was supposed to do. And they would have already heard about it.

Because it would have been…catastrophic.

She had no doubt about that.

She certainly wasn't about to risk illuminating that point with either of these two men by arguing anymore either. And she fiercely hoped neither of them realized it on their own. They already had some rather bitter history in regards to Tucker. If they were to allow themselves to seriously consider just what the man was capable of…they'd surely be all the more inclined to believe the worst.

So she changed the subject before they could do that.

"If you don't mind me saying, sir, we may be missing the big picture here."

Archer surprised her a bit by nodding and sighing.

"These terrorist attacks going on everywhere." He said. "No, I haven't missed that."

Even Malcolm hadn't missed it apparently, though that didn't really surprise her.

"Practically every Coalition signatory has suffered them." He said. "No single organization or even any particular ideology involved. All of them waging their own individual terrorist campaigns at roughly the same time. Just when the Romulans press the attack."

"Masaro alluded to it himself, though I don't think he understood what it suggested." Hess offered.

"How's that?" Archer asked, curiously.

"Terra Prime has been predicting some sort of very major crisis on the horizon for months now." Reed said. "One they intended to take full advantage of. Masaro mentioned that as the main reason he decided not to go through it. Whatever you might say about the man, he was smart enough to put two and two together."

Hess nodded.

"It's a little too big a coincidence that the Romulans happen to strike just when Terra Prime kicks off a whole series of attacks." She said. "And that most of those attacks are against Starfleet and the UES."

"So he held off sabotaging the ship because he didn't like the idea of helping the Romulans?" Archer snorted. "That was very noble of him."

Hess shrugged.

"I think he was really just frightened by the idea that they might have something to do with it. And if he's not just bigoted but really _is _xenophobic, he probably doesn't have any problem accepting aliens orchestrated all this somehow."

"And that's the real question here, isn't it?" Reed suggested. "How in the world did they do that? First of all, _did they? _I find that hard to believe, really. Can't see how it's possible. But everything seems to point to exactly that. Romulans somehow stirring up every major terrorist organization throughout the Coalition at the same time. In order to take advantage of the chaos as they invade."

"It's incredible, I agree." Archer nodded. "But like you said, it's far too big a coincidence. In the end it doesn't matter _how _they did it. They did and it's had a real impact on our ability to respond as effectively."

Like, Hess thought, casting doubt on Tucker's loyalty. And while that probably hadn't been the intention, as they couldn't possibly know anything about the relationship between these particular men, that was a serious concern for her anyway.

Archer at least had tried…and still tried…to hold on to the friendship he'd once had with Trip. Malcolm didn't even have that much reason to credit him.

If these two came to believe Tucker was working for Terra Prime…or even that the possibility was so dire that it required acting upon…

If they had the opportunity to stop and consider the truly horrific specter of Charles Tucker, Terra Prime agent…

…she shuddered to think what might happen tomorrow.

When they rendezvoused with the _Tempest_.


	18. Chapter 18

**Tempest**  
><strong>Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)<br>Security Brig, Deck B**

Teron sat patiently in the brig cell, waiting for the Humans to come and display their utter lack of emotional discipline about the place.

There would likely be shouting and threats. Subtle attempts at manipulation. Perhaps some measure of violence, if cinematic representations of such things were in any way accurate. But he was no childish Human, no savage barbarian ruled by desire and fear. It would be a passing discomfort that merely required suffering through for a relative moment. They would gain nothing from him.

Eventually, he supposed, he would be transferred to the Human orbital station to await extradition to Vulcan. Probably another attempt or two at interrogation or some offer made that the Humans would likely presume he'd find tempting.

In the end…nothing. Nothing would come of this. They'd taken the opportunity to attempt a political action aboard the _Tempest _when it had presented itself and it had almost completely failed. Even the otherwise very successful sabotage of the _Kolinahr _had essentially been undone, thanks to the intervention of these uncivilized, emotionally insane and thoroughly disgusting…people.

But that was the inherent risk in such things. It was extremely difficult, if not practically impossible, to plan and account for all circumstances. Likely all that his personal sacrifice would accomplish would be a record of statement filed away with the Ministry of Security. Perhaps even with the V'Shar, in a file that would likely never be made available to the public at all.

Extremely unfortunate, but logic dictated that it simply be accepted. There was nothing to be done about it.

He'd accepted the possibility of risking or even sacrificing his life for his people when he'd joined the Vulcan Space Program, eventually even seeking a position aboard the _Kolinahr_. He'd done no less than that here, expending his life for the benefit of the people in a more direct and singular manner.

So his logic was sound. And however meager the gain from his personal sacrifice, his work was nearly done. All that remained would be suffering through his time among the Humans and a final public statement at his sentencing on Vulcan. After that his life would end, for all intents and purposes.

It was somewhat unexpected when Major Tulok appeared at the door and entered the cell, as he would otherwise have assumed the Humans would not allow him to speak to him first. Of course…the Humans had delayed already for much longer than Teron had thought they would. So perhaps there were political machinations at work behind the scenes.

That was encouraging, as it suggested the Vulcan High Command may have taken interest in his actions. Which in turn suggested he may not have to suffer custody with the Humans very much at all before being remanded to Vulcan. Among his own people, where he belonged.

He watched dispassionately as Tulok considered the interior of the cell for a moment, before taking a seat…on the toilet. As there was no other place to sit but the bunk itself.

"Teron." Major Tulok said, thoughtful, once he'd sat. "Subaltern, operations adjutant. I recall three passing interactions with you aboard the _Kolinahr_. Judging from those, your upbringing in Ne'Let province, south of Na'Ree, and various secondary rumors concerning you, I conclude that you are an isolationist. So this would be the primary motivation for your criminal behavior. Would that be correct?"

Teron considered.

"Essentially correct." He acknowledged. "It is, of course, significantly more complicated a matter than that. But as you require only a limited understanding of my motives to conduct this interrogation, I would determine that to be sufficient."

"That is agreeable then." Tulok nodded. "Concerning that, it is unfortunate but we must conclude this interrogation with some measure of expediency. At least, with less care and attention to detail as we would otherwise avail ourselves of."

"The Humans are unable to suppress their desire to achieve some manner of closure concerning this incident, I presume." Teron said. "Or, more likely, to express their fear with threats and obscenities in my presence."

"Not at all." Tulok denied. "It has not proven difficult to distract them until now, especially considering the other threats they face at the moment. As it happens, your terrorist action has become a secondary concern. If even that."

That was…unexpected.

"What else has occurred to render it a lesser concern?"

"Those details are irrelevant to this interrogation, of course." Tulok asserted. "And more to the point the Humans are currently engaged in a massive orgy in the recreation room to celebrate their victory over the Romulan Bird of Prey and the successful repair and redeployment of the _Kolinahr_."

Teron's twitched an eyebrow at that.

Intentionally, of course, in order to communicate that he was unaware of any of those particulars, while affording none of them any real importance.

"You were unaware of any of that." Tulok noted, properly. "Just as you assume none of it to be relevant to you now. However, their current behavior…it will continue to distract them for a time from the necessity of interrogating their prisoner quickly, as would be most logical. But following that it can be expected that they will be rather more irrational and impulsive even than usual when they finally do. So I am here now not only because it was the first available opportunity but because it may represent the only opportunity."

Teron had nothing to say about that. So he simply waited for the Major to begin. He wasn't concerned with the Humans. They were lesser creatures, not worthy of such concern.

"Additionally, I was able to come here without their being aware or offering anything beyond tacit approval. Having disabled the security monitoring system we may conduct this interrogation entirely in private and without the Humans being aware it even takes place. As they are an extremely curious people, one could expect there is the possibility that they could take it upon themselves to eavesdrop in order to satisfy that curiosity."

That at least Teron felt compelled to remark upon.

"They are impulsive, destructive and have no self control."

"Indeed." Tulok agreed. "But we are entirely alone and there is no possibility of interruption. So let us determine how best to begin."

Tulok turned away to consider the wall of the cell, leaving Teron to process the information shared so far.

And continued staring at the wall for a while more following that.

Until he'd stared at the wall blankly for a long time. Long enough that Teron began to find it disturbing and felt it logical to remark upon it.

"You are staring at the wall, Major."

Tulok…startled. Twitching slightly at the sound of his voice.

Even seeming not to know where he was for a moment.

"Excuse me." Tulok said, having recovered himself. "Recent events, a propensity for procrastinating in regards to meditation and an unusually long duty shift prior to that has rendered me somewhat…uncentered."

And indeed it had, apparently. To so casually admit to fatigue and procrastination…especially in regards to meditation…

"That was improper." Tulok noted, curiously. "Again, excuse me. It was inappropriate of me to share that with you."

The Major visibly…shook that off.

Again, rather inappropriate behavior, being so expressive. Perhaps the Major had not only delayed meditating for too long but had somehow been effected by the Human environment.

"Let us return to the business at hand." He said.

As if Teron had played any part in his own lapse in behavior.

And Major Tulok paused again. Apparently needing to think for a moment before remember what the business at hand was…

Then he snorted.

Quietly. Just barely enough for Teron to detect.

With the barest hint of a smirk. The corner of his mouth on one side only just slightly twitching.

"Teron." He mused aloud. "A rather effeminate name. In fact, there was young woman named T'Ron with whom I was acquainted in an early educational program. I would wonder what role that played in your developing such antisocial orientation later in life."

Major Tulok's eyes…flickered.

"But…again…that is not relevant to this interrogation." He decided. "Rather, I will consider that matter internally, rather than speaking of it openly. As that would not be productive."

Teron began to consider the Major more critically now.

And…with some concern…

"Perhaps, Major…" Teron suggested, cautiously. "We should conclude this interrogation swiftly. So that you could meditate…"

Tulok's eyes widened at that, to Teron's surprise. And further concern.

"Are you suggesting I am emotional, Subaltern?" Tulok demanded.

"Perhaps not." Teron suggested. "But as you have said yourself…"

"I am an agent of Vulcan Intelligence." Tulok said, coldly. "I assure you I am well trained to deal with something so simple as a week or two without sleep or meditation."

A…week or two?

"Of course." Teron acknowledged. Quickly. "I meant no offense."

"There is no offense where none is _taken_." Tulok insisted.

Sharply. And a bit…aggressively.

But apparently Major Tulok was not done expressing his…disagreement.

"If you find my manner unacceptable for any reason, I can of course summon the Humans from their orgy to come and interrogate you themselves." He said.

"That is not necessary." Teron assured. "I am prepared to proceed with the interrogation."

"A wise decision." Tulok nodded. "Especially considering the remarks several of the females made to me as I participated."

As he…_participated?_

"I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I am forced to make on your behalf, Subaltern. It would be logical to acknowledge that."

Teron stared.

"Of…course, Major." Teron said, awkwardly.

"It would seem Human sexual stamina is rather lacking in comparison to Vulcan." Tulok continued. "The females were quite pleased to discover this. But, of course, there are limits even to my own abilities. It was difficult convincing them to delay their intentions concerning _you _until _after _your interrogation by the Human Tactical Officer."

Their…_what?_

"What…" Teron said, haltingly. "What intentions?"

Tulok snorted again. And made little effort suppressing it this time.

"I am sure your imagination is not up to the task, Subaltern." Tulok said. "If we can conclude this interrogation swiftly, as you seem so eager to, then perhaps I can return to the celebration and delay them for a few hours longer. If that is agreeable to you…?"

* * *

><p>Commander Benning was up and around the desk…and around the Vulcan spy casually standing in his way…fairly quickly. And the brig was right outside the door, just down the corridor. So he was there almost immediately.<p>

But, hell, who knows how long that damned Vulcan had been gone? He could be in there right now for all he knew…

Assuming he got past the door guard somehow. And it'd take time for him to disable the security monitors, if he was really even able to do that in the first place.

The guard was on post, standing at ease. Watching the hall on alert.

So…where the hell was…?

"Ensign!" Benning barked, before he was halfway down the corridor. "Did Major Tulok just come through here?"

The ensign responded admirably, not so much as twitching or stuttering.

"He was here just a couple of minutes ago, sir." He said, sharply. "I think he's heading to the mess hall…"

"You _think?" _Benning snapped. "Which _way _did he go?"

"Can't say, sir. That's where he said…"

"You can't say? Did you _see _him leave?"

"Uh…no, sir."

Benning broke off and darted directly into the brig.

And out of the corner of his eye he could see Commander T'Pol already on his heels. Moving casually, to his further irritation. Not even bothering to hurry to catch up.

A step, a dart to the side and the cell door was directly in front of him. As was the prisoner.

Major Tulok wasn't in there. The prisoner was alone, sitting on his bunk.

But he was…upset.

Trembling a little. Staring at the wall on the other side of the cell. Wide-eyed.

Damn.

_Damn!_

Benning spun about to snap something or other at Commander T'Pol, who'd already entered the brig to stand off to the side. Hands folded comfortably at her back again, watching the proceedings with mild interest.

No idea what he was going to bark at her. But it was going to be pretty expressive and probably contain a couple of swear words tossed in for flavor.

The guard appeared in the doorway just then, head-first in his haste to get his Commander's attention.

"Sir…Major Tulok's out here."

So Benning bit his tongue on that one, saving it up for Tulok instead.

He practically teleported there. Because he was pretty pissed.

But all of that gave him enough time to get a handle on it. Compress it down into a nice, cold ball of pissed off that he could beat the damned Vulcan around the head with…

Major Tulok was just standing there, out in the corridor. Hands folded as his back, just like _her_. Standing there waiting for him.

Benning stepped right up. Glaring right in his face.

"Major Tulok, you'd better tell me right now you haven't been in that cell." Benning seethed.

Tulok considered that for a moment. And Benning was forced to tighten his grip on that nice little ball of pissed off he had a strangle hold on.

"If that is what you require." Tulok said, at last. "And I'm sure the Ensign here can confirm that, if you believe that will be helpful."

Benning's teeth started to hurt. Because he'd started grinding them a bit at some point.

"However," Tulok added. "That would not be accurate."

Benning took a deep breath. And let it out in a long, slow growl.

"Major, I think I was pretty clear. You were not to interrogate this prisoner without oversight."

"Indeed." Tulok acknowledge. "I readily confirm this was the direction I was given and that you were perfectly clear in communicating it. But if you happen to require something that could arguably be considered 'oversight', I have the entire interrogation recorded on my PADD. Audio only, unfortunately, but with passive medical sensor readings that I believe will make it sufficient for legal purposes."

The Tactical Officer stared. And shifted his grip a bit on that cold, hard ball.

"You _recorded _the interrogation?" He asked, to be clear. "I thought you said you couldn't _do _that."

"Not with the subject being aware, Commander. And further it was my intention to delete the recording if the prisoner relayed any information that Vulcan Intelligence might deem sensitive. But that is not the case and so it is logical to release it to you."

"Give me the damned PADD, Major."

Tulok produced it immediately, seemingly out of thin air. And Benning snatched it very impolitely out of his hand the moment it did.

"Additionally, Commander." Tulok said, as Benning turned the PADD over examining it. "I intended to be available when you arrived but I was somewhat delayed in reconnecting the fiber optic lines in the brig security panel down the corridor. While similar to standard Starfleet systems of that nature, I found that I was not adequately familiar with this one in particular. I acknowledge my failure and it was not my intention to delay the resolution of this matter any longer than necessary."

* * *

><p>Commander Song assessed the situation critically. Eyeing everyone in the room intently as she did so.<p>

Benning was pissed, she could see. Seething still but already just beginning to simmer down a bit. Barring something else setting him off, he was a half a minute from accepting what's done is done.

The two Vulcans…well, they'd done what they thought was logical. So whatever repercussions she might hand out would be accepted gracefully and have absolutely no impact whatsoever. They'd do it again if they felt they should.

She could have them both flogged in the mess hall or something and they'd just casually point out that she was being excessive, allowing her emotions to impact her decisions regarding punitive measures. Probably in the course of being flogged.

"Okay." She said, after a time. "Commander T'Pol, I'm holding you responsible for this as the Major's commanding officer. But I already know that doesn't matter. Whatever I do about this isn't going to amount to anything."

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow a little, though Song couldn't tell if that was supposed to indicate surprise or appreciation.

"Let me point out to that it cuts both way, alright?" She said. "Yes, there's not a lot we can do to keep you two in line. But there's not a lot we _can't _do either. You're only technically assigned as crewman, so we can get away with quite a lot. As an example, right off the top of my head, a half dozen back-to-back twenty-four hour work schedules involving air ducts and steel wool pads."

Song shrugged. "I could have you confined to quarters but we both know that won't hold either of you if you got it in your heads to cause trouble. I _can _assign you duties that will keep you very, very occupied. Supervised assignments. Under constant monitor and surveillance. I'm pretty sure that will at least slow you down."

"But." She said, a little more firmly. "Let me try something that _will _work with you. Let's try some logic. Reason this out a bit. You need to be a part of this crew to get anything done. You need to be accepted, at least to some degree. Just having everyone suspicious of you is all it would take to make anything you might decide to do in the interests of Vulcan…against _our _interests…about ten times harder."

"So…you can't get away with this sort of thing again. You've pushed your luck about as far as you can already, and then some. I haven't failed to realize this makes two prisoners you've managed to snake from under us. And yes, we still have this one available, but I suspect the only reason he's still breathing or hasn't mysteriously fallen into a coma or…_whatever_…that's only because you've determined he doesn't have any information you don't want _us _to have."

"You can't do this again." Song emphasized. "Because we're Human. Because we're an emotional people who tend to react irrationally. Tend to overreact, in fact, to this sort of thing. So our reaction to even one more tiny little indication that you're a potential problem we're going to have to devote time that we don't have to keeping an eye on you…yeah, you can expect we're going to overreact in a major way. We might overreact you two right out an airlock."

"Now, you're either here to help us or you're not. If not, then you're a problem. And we have too many of those already and not enough rational consideration to spread around just now. If you are here to help us…then I invite you to examine the logic of playing by the rules a little bit from here on. _Our _rules, thank you."

Song looked them both in the eye, intently. Not expecting any response or any indication that she'd made an impact at all. But she was fairly sure she had.

T'Pol responded first, with a calm glance over at Tulok before she spoke.

"I understand your point, Commander." She said. "And I agree with it. It is not our intention to undermine the ship or crew in any way. It is in our interests to aid you in whatever way we can, to the best of our ability, in responding effectively to the current situation. The Romulans threaten Vulcan as well, after all. And Earth is our ally in this."

"That's very nice." Song said. "But it kind of draws attention to how this really must have been important to you. Makes me wonder what exactly you were afraid these prisoners might have had to say to us."

"Yes, I can understand your concern." T'Pol said.

Song waited again.

Not really expecting T'Pol would expand on that point. But she would have been remiss not to extend the opportunity.

"Fine." She said. "Benning? Anything to say here?"

Benning scowled. "No, not really. If we can't go with the airlock option or otherwise get them hell off this ship…and I assume tossing them in the brig isn't going to happen…I don't know what the hell I can do here, Song. I just don't have enough men to keep an eye on them twenty-four seven."

Song nodded. "Right. So I guess I'm prepared to react. Not quite at the 'irrational overreaction' point yet, but let's be clear that I'm very close to that. T'Lea's down in the cargo bay, pitching in there, is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am." Benning nodded. "Although I should probably call and confirm that, considering."

"Don't bother, I'm heading there myself. So these two are with you. Constantly. They can carry your PADDs. Door guards on their quarters following duty shift, which now consists of a sixteen hour schedule, since I understand Vulcans don't require recreation."

"Commander." Tulok interjected.

"Yeah?"

"If I am allowed the option, I would prefer to accompany you to the cargo bay. I believe I would be more productive there while still allowing for the same measure of supervision…"

"Productive in what capacity?" Song challenged. "I'm considering the prospect of a Vulcan Intelligence officer getting his hands on fissionable munitions, Major. Not in a favorable light, either."

"I would suggest that is not a concern, Commander. And I have some measure of technical training, just as Subaltern T'Lea does. Although not as skilled as she, I believe nonetheless that I would be more productive there."

Song frowned, but…

"That's fine." Song nodded.

"I will remain here," T'Pol decided. "To be sure Commander Benning is able to utilize me in whatever capacity required before he relocates to the cargo bay himself."

"Good." Song said. "Since, as I recall, that's exactly what I ordered you to do."

"Acknowledged, Commander."

Song nodded again, sharply. "Benning, any reason we can't just ship the prisoner over the Celestial while we still can? You said Major Tulok here already got everything he could out of him…"

Benning looked confused.

"Commander…we debarked over an hour ago."

Song blinked.

They…what?

Oh. Right.

The brandy. Damn, lost track of time.

Song raised a tired hand to rub her forehead. And yeah, she was still a just a _little _buzzed, to be perfectly honest. Hopefully not enough that anyone would notice…

"Right. Fine. Okay." She said. "We _should _have transferred him…but, yeah, it was a little crazy around here. I'll leave that problem with you, then. Get in there and be sure we got everything out of him that we can, if just for the sake of formality. Then bump Harrison up and I'll meet you in the cargo bay."

"Yes, ma'am." Benning nodded, with a little grin.

Amused at her now, she noticed.

Which…yeah, that was fine. At least he wasn't going to blow a gasket about the Vulcans anymore. So that was another brushfire successfully contained.

She nodded to Tulok.

"Alright, Major. Let's go."


	19. Chapter 19

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Main Corridor, Deck B<strong>

Commander Song tried not to at first.

She even snorted a little snicker, trying not to. But in the end she figured…this was a Human ship. So laughing out loud was perfectly justified, even if it was technically inappropriate in current company.

She did at least apologize though.

"Sorry, Major." She said, grinning. Still laughing a little.

"I am not offended, Commander."

"Well, yeah, sorry anyway. But that's pretty funny."

And she chuckled a bit more. Just because.

"So…let me get this straight." She grinned. "You acted…what, crazy? And then threatened him with sex-crazed Humans. Have I got that right?"

Tulok considered as they walked along down the corridor.

"Yes, essentially." He decided.

"And that worked?"

"It would appear so."

Song shook her head. Because that was pretty funny.

"I think I kind of get it already, but tell me anyway."

"Teron is an isolationist." Tulok explained. "An isolationist devoted enough to that ideal to engage in violence, even against his fellow crewmen and in such a dramatic fashion. That suggests irrational idealism. The logical assumption was that his irrational isolationist idealism was itself motivated by bigotry. Speciest bigotry in this case."

"He hates Humans." Song guessed.

"I would use the word 'despises' and broaden that to all species beyond Vulcan. But, yes, that is the assumption I was working from."

"So the idea that Humans were going to come throw a party in his cell scared him silly." She said. "And sexual assault of some kind would probably be the single most terrifying attack against Vulcan discipline he could imagine. Vulcan discipline which he relies on to justify that sense of speciest superiority he's nursing."

Tulok looked over at her then. With something of an appreciative look.

"Yes, correct." He said. "That is very insightful, Commander."

"Thanks." Song nodded. "But why act crazy yourself? I would figure you'd use the 'good cop, bad cop' routine."

"I am not familiar…?"

"A very basic interrogation technique." Song explained. "Two interrogators take opposing approaches to interacting with the subject, either together or separately. One is aggressive, threatening and accusing…the other understanding, sympathetic and supportive. The subject will usually be almost _compelled _to seek approval from the 'good cop', either because they're forced to trust them or just because they're afraid of the 'bad cop'. Your basic, very classic interrogation technique."

"And this is an effective strategy?"

"Almost always works. If you're aware of it and manipulative enough yourself there are ways to counter it, but you're average criminal isn't usually that bright."

Tulok considered that.

"That would not have worked with Teron." He decided. "He would simply have remained reticent and refused to cooperate further."

Song shrugged. "Which is the easiest way to counter it."

"Additionally, Commander T'Pol was required to distract Commander Benning. So I would have had no partner to assume the opposite role."

"Okay, but still…why act crazy?"

Reaching the rear lift on Deck B, they entered and began the short ride down to Deck C. And Tulok still hadn't answered.

So she found herself amused again. Because she didn't think the question would actually _stump _the guy like that.

"Excuse me, I was considering how best to answer." Tulok said. "It involves admissions that are uncomfortable."

"Oh." Song said, surprised. And a little uncomfortable herself now suddenly.

It was easy to forget it was even possible to offend Vulcans. Or _how _to offend them, for that matter, since all the typical offenses didn't usually work on them.

But he answered before she could decide whether she should apologize again.

"In order to support the threat to Vulcan discipline, as you noted before." Tulok said. "I displayed the very state of being he feared most in himself. Decreased cognitive function, aggression and lowered inhibitions. Among other things."

Song nodded. "Everything he projects onto others so he doesn't have to face the fact that he's capable of those things himself."

"Indeed, that was my assumption."

The lift arrived on Deck C and they exited, turning left toward the cargo bay.

"Which I guess is something no Vulcan would enjoy being confronted with." Song said. "I think I'm impressed with you, Major. That couldn't have been easy for you."

"It was not. But I would not be a Vulcan Intelligence agent of any note if I were unwilling to suffer discomfort in such a situation."

Song nodded appreciatively. Yeah, she could certainly understand that…

"Commander, I acknowledge your insightfulness."

That amused her again, of course.

"Thanks." She said. "I guess I just picked up a thing or two here and there."

"From your early studies in the fields of psychology and behavior modification, prior to joining Starfleet."

They arrived at the door to the cargo bay. But Song didn't tap the panel and lead them in just yet.

She faced Major Tulok and waited instead.

So Tulok reviewed their interaction so far, looking for what might be the reason she stared at him now. Or pretended to, as he knew very well.

"That may have been lacking in tact." He decided. "Suggesting that I am aware of details of your past I should otherwise not be privy to."

"A little creepy, you mean. Yeah, it was."

"I understand." He said. "My intent was to reveal interest, enough that I would expend the minor effort of conducting research to that end."

"Researching me." Song said. "That's even creepier. I think you're going the wrong direction, Major. Maybe you should turn around."

"I have conducted similar, if lesser research on every command staff officer and second in each department in order to prepare myself adequately to interact with this crew. If that explanation assuages the…creepiness."

"A little." Song said. "Keep going."

"I have a proposal that I am considering offering you." Tulok said. "So it seemed logical and appropriate to learn more about you before doing so. To determine whether there is any possibility that you will accept and whether you are as suitable as my initial impression of you led me to believe."

Song cocked her head a little at that.

"Not sure…if we just turned around and headed back to creepy town or not with that one, Major…"

"Would you care to hear my proposal?"

Song thought about it. For about half a second.

"Some other time." She said.

And reached to tap the panel.

Interestingly…she didn't tap it.

Her hand hovered there instead, right on the cusp of hearing that proposal and doing something other than that.

Because, yeah. She wanted to hear that proposal. So somewhere in the back of her mind she must have already had an idea what it entailed. And whatever part of her mind it was that figured that out must have liked the idea, because it wouldn't let her tap that panel…

"Okay, what?" She said, lowering her hand and turning to face him again.

"I am normally an insightful person myself, Commander." Tulok said, folding his hands behind his back.

Doing that Vulcan thing, Song noted. Which she suddenly wasn't sure she found as amusing as she had up to that point.

"Consequently, I have intuited that you either have difficulty with or intentionally avoid intimate relationships. I believe it most likely that dependant relationships with others, especially relationships involving sexual intimacy, do not appeal to you…"

"Okay, just so you know…" Song interrupted. "I've got this thing where I'm really offended by what you just said. So I'll be sitting on that while you hurry up and get to the point. And I'll decide then what I'm going to do about it. It probably won't be very nice."

"I am willing to take the risk." Tulok said.

"I'm impressed." Song said, flatly. "Continue."

"I find you very attractive, Commander. And I have noted unmistakable indications that you are attracted to me as well…"

Song tossed up a couple of eyebrows at that one.

"Oh, really? Such as?"

"Pupil dilation, breathlessness, increased heart rate, increased vocal pitch, mirroring of vocal patterns and body language…"

"Okay, wait…" Song said.

Holding up one hand to stop all that before it went any farther. And closing her eyes for a minute to process all that.

Until…

"…really?" She said, opening her eyes. "You actually _notice _things like that?"

"That should not suggest I am unusually observant…although I suppose I am, as a result of my training as an intelligence agent…but rather that my reciprocal attraction motivated me to seek and make note of those indicators."

Song stared.

And Tulok waited patiently for her to achieve logic. As he expected she would.

Eventually…Song frowned a little. And nodded.

"Okay." She said. "So…proposal. Get to it."

"You are waiting for me to propose that we engage in sexual relations." Tulok acknowledged. "So that you can proceed to the expression of offense that you have promised would not be very nice. However, that is not my proposal. Rather that we test the boundaries of intimacy between us to determine what level of comfort we share and whether or not…"

"Are you asking me what I _think _you're asking me?"

"I am proposing that we date, essentially." Tulok said. "At least as I understand the term."

Song squinted at that.

And…eventually smirked a little.

"To what logical end, Major Tulok?"

"Sexual relations, of course."

Song nodded.

Because, right.

And, yeah, this is where you step off Mr. Vulcan Super Spy…

She ordered her hand back to the door. And it just hovered there again, not tapping the panel.

Damn it.

"I'll think about it." She said.

Thankfully, that was enough that whatever part of her mind was being so difficult finally let her hand hit the panel. And they proceeded inside to pitch in with the long, hard job of constructing a trio of nuclear pumped x-ray laser missiles.

But she was already thinking about it.

* * *

><p>The entire Alpha shift bridge crew, the senior command staff of the ship, finished off Alpha shift down in the cargo bay. And worked on through Beta, their normal off-bridge duty shift, as well.<p>

And then again for three more hours into Gamma, when all of them would have otherwise snatched a few moments of relaxation, socialization and recreation before hitting the rack in order to rise again the next morning.

That left Gamma largely in charge of the _Tempest _for the entire day, so Song had felt compelled to add the monitoring of Captain Tucker's communications to her duties down in the cargo bay.

Because…well, that was just necessary.

Across the bay, out of the corner of her eye, amidst the haphazardly piled four hundred or so mining rig rods still waiting to have low friction polymer applied, she kept an eye on Captain Tucker where he sat on an overturned empty bucket of low friction polymer. Applying said polymer to the laser rods.

And saw him reach for the comm at his belt.

So she snatched up a fist-sized empty box of resin-tab applicators.

"Captain to the bridge." Trip said.

Quietly. Like he expected no one was going to hear him, sitting in the middle of the cargo bay like that.

Song stared. As did Benning and Shran. Even Crowley and Steel watched.

"_Bridge, go ahead."_

"What's our status, Sabrina?"

"_About fourteen hours out now, sir. Last comm has Enterprise on intercept and reporting ready to receive."_

Trip nodded at that…and hesitated…

"Anything up there I need to know about?"

Song launched the box. And it sailed lightly over the mining rods to bounce off his left shoulder before Sabrina Judge could even respond.

"_Nothing to report, sir."_

Trip scowled back at Song, even as the cardboard box bounced around and came to a rest at his feet.

"Alright. Captain out." Trip said, tapping the comm again. "_What_, Song?"

"You _know _what."

"Look, I'm the captain. You can't just _throw _things at the captain…"

"And you can't keep calling the bridge every ten minutes, looking over their shoulder. Leave them alone, Trip. They've got it covered."

"I'm just…trying to be the captain here…"

"You're trying to be a pain in the ass." Song insisted. "You know they're up there right now bitching about how they can't get anything done because you keep calling."

Trip took a sharp breath and opened his mouth to argue.

"Look…"

But he didn't have anything he could throw out there to counter that. Because she was right, of course.

"…okay." He said, throwing his hands out. "You're right. So sue me. I'm worried about my ship."

"They've got it covered, Trip." She insisted. "Relax. Roscoe's got the chair, Sabrina's on comm. Eckerd, Downing, Million…they've got it covered."

Trip grumbled a bit. And snatched up another rod to start lathering polymer on it. But he glanced back again when he realized she was still staring at him.

"_Alright." _He said.

Song nodded. Good, then.

Everyone got back to work. And Song got back to shaving the tips of the housing receptacles on the directional deployment unit she was wrestling to exactly 2.46 millimeters. Even if she didn't have a clear idea why that was necessary.

And, she suddenly realized, using the excuse of monitoring Trip's communications to watch Commander T'Pol. Who was sitting right next to him, looking around curiously trying to figure exactly what that had been all about.

She'd been sitting over there in that big pile of mining rig rods chatting the Captain up for a few hours now. And Tulok's little 'proposal' earlier today had made her a little more aware of how that might be a matter of concern.

Of course, that thought immediately distracted her. And she glanced over at the fission missile team on the opposite side of the cargo bay. To find Tulok looking back at her.

And yeah, that'd been going on since this morning, too. He'd been…_looking _at her like that all day.

And that made her almost painfully aware of all those little indicators he mentioned earlier. Because, yeah, her heart did pitter-patter just a bit when she looked over there and found him eyeing her. And maybe she did get a little bit breathless. Just a little.

And smile just a little. And tuck her hair behind her ear. And do that shy look thing that she hated it when she did. Because it was girlish and stupid and she felt she was in grade school again with Tom Barstow and how she'd always giggle like an idiot when he told some silly joke that wasn't even funny…

* * *

><p>"So anyway, go on with what you were saying." Trip said, lathering polymer on the last three inches of the laser rod he held.<p>

T'Pol retrieved a rod herself, from the two dozen or laid out near her, drying on a kludged together frame fashioned from three space heaters and a bacon rack borrowed from the galley. Polishing the tips of the rods as she carried on the discussion.

"Circular reasoning is not logical." T'Pol continued. "Therefore rejecting faith and holding only to logic and reason is itself illogical."

"Right, that." Trip said. "I'm not getting that."

"If only evidence based on logic and reasoning is acceptable then there is nothing but logic and reason to appeal to in order to justify that acceptance of evidence. That is circular logic."

Trip stopped what he was doing to look at her. And frowned, squinting.

"Okay, so…how does that mean faith is logical?"

"Absent faith there is nothing to justify logic and reason, and therefore nothing by which to validate evidence. Nothing can be known and all things then become irrelevant."

Trip spent a second or two wrapping his head around that one.

"So…" He ventured, at last. "That's why rational atheism is impossible."

"Correct."

"So what do Vulcans have faith in then?

"The unknown." T'Pol said.

Which surprised Trip again, so that he stopped working to look at her in surprise.

"But of course this is not necessarily true for all Vulcans." She explained. "Many hold to religious belief sets. Just as many more appeal to rational atheism, denying that this is illogical. The majority, however, acknowledge faith in the unknown as the rational basis of logic."

Trip shook his head a little.

"I'm still not sure I'm following along, but I guess I get what you're saying. So that means believing in God is logical."

"Rather, that it is not necessarily illogical."

"Okay, what's the difference?"

"God may not exist." T'Pol explained. "If it does not, then belief in God is illogical. If it does, then it is not."

Trip searched the wall over there on the other side of the cargo bay. Looking for how the heck _that _made any sense.

And when he couldn't find it, just took a stab in the dark.

"So…you're agnostic."

"Of course."

"Why didn't you just say that then?"

"You asked how faith could be considered illogical and atheism logical." T'Pol pointed out. "Correcting your misperception and answering that Vulcans are essentially agnostic would not have adequately addressed the question."

"Okay. So…faith itself is logical but faith in God may or may not be illogical."

"Or faith in any other particular thing, depending on whether or not it is valid."

"Yeah, that's beside the point, though." Trip dismissed. "The point was…"

He…had to spent a minute backtracking to remember what exactly the point was, though. Because they'd left it pretty far behind, about an hour ago.

Ah, right.

"Right. The point was…'faith is the evidence of things not seen'. Now if that's logically valid then all the evidence for the existence of God is logically valid. So how do you justify atheism? Or agnosticism, since that's what you are."

"I have yet to discover a theory for the existence of God that is verifiable. Therefore agnosticism and faith in the unknown remains logical."

"But wouldn't faith in an unverifiable God be logical too?"

"So long as evidence to the contrary can be adequately addressed, yes."

"What evidence to the contrary is there?"

"That is unknown."

Trip swapped the laser rod into his offhand and ran his fingers through his hair one good time. Then rubbed the back of his neck.

And frowned at her. Frustrated.

"If it eases your frustration, Captain, consider that truth is infinite and therefore cannot be known. For this reason both religious faith and agnosticism are logically justifiable. And so my faith is sound."

"Doesn't help a whole lot."

"That is unfortunate."

Trip stared and frowned some more anyway.

Until he smirked a bit. And finally laughed.

"You're really something, Commander." He said, shaking his head.

"Ironically, that illustrates the point." T'Pol said, switching out the laser rod she was polishing for another. "As you cannot establish my existence with evidence based solely on logic and reason, without relying on faith in the unknown to justify both, you must accept that I am 'something' based on faith. And since I exist your faith is logical."

"You know…if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were messing with me."

T'Pol stopped polishing the rod for a moment to consider that.

"You mean to imply that I am manipulating you intellectually for my own amusement."

"I wouldn't put it that way, but it sure seems like it sometimes." Trip chuckled.

"Of course, if I were doing that, Captain, I would never admit to it."

Trip shot her a grin at that.

Then again, not grinning so much as being completely astounded.

He nearly dropped the laser rod he suddenly fumbled. Which would have been bad, since they only had about a half dozen to spare.


	20. Chapter 20

**Enterprise  
>NX-Class (NX-01)<br>****Alpha Centauri System**

_Tempest, you have approach vector. External airlock deployed and locked. You may begin approach._

_Acknowledged, Enterprise. Approaching one-twenty meters, stations keeping position. _

_Tempest, maintain one-twenty meters for relative motion assess._

_Acknowledged. Relative motion assessment positive._

_Confirmed, begin rendezvous. Maintain stations keeping, 30 meters._

_Enterprise, we're on point and have confirmation on the board._

_Acknowledged, Tempest. You may resume rendezvous, .2 meters per second. _

_Enterprise, e-mag is hot, thirty seconds. Score in three…two…one…we have contact. Preset post contact thrust initiated._

_Tempest, we show rings aligned and latch capture. Awaiting your green._

_Enterprise, green lights on the board. Confirm?_

_Tempest, roger that. Our board is green. Kiss the girl goodnight._

_Home by midnight. Thanks for the dance, Enterprise. _

* * *

><p>Archer and Reed were at the airlock when it cycled open and Trip appeared. They stood at ease, with two stewards at their flanks ready and eager to deal with anyone other than the man neither of them thought would ever step foot on the <em>Enterprise <em>again.

The latest issued Starfleet uniform he wore stood in stark contrast to their own, even through the airlock door. And that proved rather striking.

Broad golden stripe across the upper chest and shoulders, dark blue everywhere else. Thick belt, with phase pistol rest visible at the hip...minus the pistol at the moment, of course. And an odd looking little device opposite that, on the other side of a dark buckle.

The service patch on his right shoulder practically leapt out at Archer, though. A grey hammerhead shark whipping sharply within and upon the Starfleet crest. And four silver pips on the right breast indicating Captain's rank.

The disparity was almost shocking. And all of that looked entirely out of place on the man. But there was a weariness and…seriousness about him that suggested that this may not be the same man Archer remembered him to be.

He shoved all that aside without a second thought, though. Because he was happy to see Trip again. And he smiled sincerely in greeting.

Trip didn't smile back.

And Malcolm didn't smile at all.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Tucker said, seriously.

"Granted." Archer grinned. "Good to see you, Trip."

Tucker nodded stiffly, stepping through to make way for the rest of his team, raising a hand right away to indicate the tall Andorian who followed behind him. Who was already glaring at everyone.

"Captain, Lieutenant Talla Shran, my Chief Engineer." He said, nodding at her.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant." Archer nodding as well. "The first Andorian to make officer in Starfleet. That's an impressive accomplishment."

"The _only _Andorian to make officer in Starfleet." Shran frowned. "If you can show me to your transporter station, I'd like to make sure your operations staff doesn't disintegrate anything they aren't supposed to."

And…as obvious afterthought.

"Captain." She acknowledged. Reluctantly.

Archer's smile faltered a bit…but he soldiered through that.

"The steward here will escort you down to the…" He said.

But he was already talking to her back. As she lead the way briskly down the corridor, forcing the steward to scramble a bit and catch up.

She was marching angrily off in the right general direction, at least.

Tucker cleared his throat a bit and twitched a quick apologetic smile at him when Archer looked for some explanation for that. But he didn't say anything. He turned to introduce the next person coming through instead.

Another non-human, Archer noted. Vulcan, no less.

She came to stand at ease just this side of the airlock…wearing a Starfleet issued uniform herself. Operations, judging by the crimson stripe.

The _Tempest _didn't have any Vulcan personnel assigned to her crew, though. And the only Vulcans that Archer was aware they _did _have on board…

"Commander T'Pol, Vulcan Intelligence." Tucker said. "Assigned to security for the _Tempest…_temporarily."

"Commander." Archer nodded. "Glad to meet you. I see you're wearing a Starfleet uniform."

"Issued as an act of courtesy, I presume." The Vulcan said. "We were not granted the opportunity to procure gear and personal supplies before being reassigned."

"Not exactly standard procedure," Archer remarked. "Issuing official duty uniforms to non-personnel."

Again he looked to Trip for an explanation.

And again he said nothing. He only nodded. Simply acknowledging the point, Archer was forced to assume.

"Alright." Archer said, after a moment. "I understand there are a few crates you wanted to ship over by hand, Trip?"

"Sorry about that, Archer." Tucker nodded. "Some of the _Tempest's _electronics are a bit…non-standard. There's some concern interference with the transporter signal might turn the munitions inside out. And I figured if we're going to cart some of the stuff over here by hand, we might as well do the same with the food stores. No point taking chances."

Archer grinned again. "That's fine. I'll have the stewards pitch in…"

"Not necessary." Tucker denied. "I've got some crewmen that need to learn the value of honest labor, if you know what I mean."

Archer snorted.

"I always knew you'd turn into a slave driver if you made command, Trip."

He just smiled politely…and tightly…and nodded.

So…Archer found that feeling of being off balance he'd been trying to avoid having…was becoming difficult to avoid having.

Reed piped up then. Which thankfully gave him something else to focus on other than how Trip wasn't acting like himself.

Something other than how he was acting like they didn't even know each other. Like any other Captain coming aboard any other Captain's ship for some routine supply transfer. And being as strictly professional about it as humanly possible.

"Commander T'Pol." Reed said, curiously. "If I'm not mistaken there was a Sub-Commander T'Pol who was to be our first advisor on our maiden voyage. That could just be a coincidence…"

"No, Lieutenant." T'Pol confirmed. "That would be me."

Archer jumped at that. Again mostly to avoid the awkwardness going on over here between he and Trip.

"Well, it's a small galaxy, I guess." He said. "But I understand the reason you weren't able to accept assignment was because your husband had passed away. I'm very sorry, Commander."

"We were not yet wed." T'Pol said. "And I was unaware that you were responsible for his death."

It was quiet for a second or two. With two of the three Humans in attendance staring at T'Pol…a little stunned. The other wincing slightly.

Then Trip cleared his throat again then, leaning in toward T'Pol a little.

"So that was a joke, right?" He asked, quietly.

"Apparently not." T'Pol said, turning slightly to him in answer.

Trip nodded and straightened up again. Still standing at ease.

"Excuse me." T'Pol said, returning her attention to the two men. "Humor continues to escape my mastery."

Humor, Archer wondered. Joking about her dead fiancé?

Really?

Yeah, you really need to work on that, Vulcan. Because that was a little disturbing.

"That's…quite alright." Archer said instead, smiling politely. "If you'll come with me we'll head down to the ready room and catch up."

He extended Trip another open smile, hoping for some response there…

But Trip just nodded.

So there wasn't anything left to do but lead the way and feel awkward about it. And a little angry.

Behind him, just barely within his ability to overhear…

"You really thought that was going to be funny?"

"It seemed ideal for provoking a hysterical reaction. I'm unsure why it failed."

"Humor is a hysterical reaction, yeah. But not all hysterical reactions are humorous."

"I…see. I will refrain from humor for a time, until I am confident that I better understand the intricacies."

"Probably a good idea. But if it helps, I think you've done pretty good so far."

"I appreciate the acknowledgement, Captain."

Archer had only taken a dozen more steps before he realized Trip had lagged behind all of a sudden. Mostly because he was so acutely aware of what was going on back there now.

Turning to see why, he found him with one hand on the bulkhead further back down the corridor. Gazing at the wall with the slightest sad smile on his face.

And if he seemed to mutter something, Archer couldn't hear what it was.

T'Pol, however, could.

"How've you been girl? I really missed yah."

Trip realized the others were waiting for him down the corridor, staring back at him as if he were behaving strangely. Which of course he was.

So he quirked a shy grin and nodded back at them as he moved to catch up again. Speaking now where even Archer could hear him.

"Sorry, Captain. Just didn't think I'd ever be back here again. Lead the way, though."

* * *

><p>Archer poured the drinks and handed them out, not realizing he was handing a Vulcan a glass of bourbon until she'd accepted. And then it was too late not to.<p>

Archer cleared his throat.

"So, dropping sensor relays to spot the incoming fleet." He said, leaning back on his desk. "Supposedly to get a number on how many ships you're up against with this 'diversion'. But I understand you believe the main fleet may actually be coming through here."

Trip swirled the ice in his drink a little. And took a polite sip, though Archer suspected it was entirely for that reason. Just to be polite.

"That's good, thanks." He said, simply. "And, yeah. That's what I'm thinking."

T'Pol held onto her drink. But otherwise showed no indication that she was even aware it existed. She just stood there staring at him.

So, wonderful. Awkward in here now, too. What a fun time we're all having.

"So…uh…" Archer tried again. "How sure are you about that, Trip? Because if you're wrong…"

T'Pol spoke suddenly. Just when he was beginning to wonder if she'd lost that ability somewhere back at the airlock.

"All indications suggest the Romulan main fleet will move through Alpha Centauri to seize Earth while the majority of Coalition forces are focused on defending Vulcan, holding the line at Beta Rigel and Sculptoris."

Archer frowned at that.

"I would have said the opposite, Commander." He said. "All indications I've seen indicate Beta Rigel and Sculptoris are precisely where the main fleet is heading."

"_Too many _indications, Archer." Trip insisted. "Including the intel T'Pol and her folks picked up from that asteroid."

"And I'd be inclined to think the same way." Archer admitted, standing up from leaning on the desk again. "But I've seen the Romulans pass over two or three freighter groups, with little or no defenses, to hit a single Vulcan ship. And a whole lot of other things that make me wonder what kind of grudge they have against the Vulcan people. Making their home system the front line in this war is exactly what I'd expect them to do."

"Which is why they're not doing that." Trip argued. "Taking Earth and Starfleet first could give them the whole Coalition. And that would leave Vulcan without any allies it can count on when they do go after them. It's the smart move."

Archer began pacing, still frowning.

"And you've got to admit," Trip continued. "They seem to have developed a bit of grudge against us too, Archer."

Alright, that's it.

That was enough of that. And he had to say something.

"What's with this 'Archer' business, Trip?" He said, turning to face him again.

Trip took a deep breath…and shrugged casually. "Well, it's a little weird calling you 'Captain' now."

"You could call me 'Jon'. Like you used to."

Trip hesitated.

"Just trying to keep things professional, sir."

Archer scowled. And now he was getting riled up.

"Are you _still _angry with me? After all this time?"

Trip sighed. "Do we really want to do this right _now_, Captain?"

"It's been a few _years_, Trip!"

"Hey, I'm not angry with you at all!" Trip insisted. "But I can't forgive you, either."

"After five years?" Archer asked, incredulously. "Why not?"

"Because you won't admit you were wrong." Trip said. "I'm not holding a grudge here but I can't ignore that."

"I _wasn't _wrong, Trip! I was trying to save your life! It was a miracle you even survived!"

"It was my life, so it was my decision. My risk to take."

"As a Starfleet officer you don't get to make decisions like that on your own!"

"Well, the courts decided otherwise, didn't they? So I guess I do. And I don't remember anyone asking Lynn for her opinion."

"Damn it, Trip…!"

"I'm not raising my voice, Captain, so I don't see why you feel the need to."

Archer glared. But he stopped for moment to rein things in a bit.

"Damn it, Trip." He said. _Not _yelling now. "I was trying to save your life. I shouldn't have to ask you to forgive me for that."

"And like I told you then, I'd rather die than…"

Trip stifled then, too. Because that shouldn't be said.

"I wouldn't have been able to live with that." He said instead. "And you knew that. What you did…what you _tried _to do…was selfish. It didn't have anything to do with _me_. You wanted your Chief Engineer and friend back. And you were willing to do anything to have that. Just like the rest of them. You should have been on _my _side, against _them_, if you were my friend. And on Lynn's side."

"It was…a lot more complicated than that, Trip."

"No it wasn't."

"There were political considerations…"

"Who cares?"

And before Archer could say anything else…

"Okay, Captain, look. Try this. You've seen pictures of Lynn. You've seen videos. You've seen her…as a person. So having seen that, can you at least say now that if you had to go back and do it all again, you'd do things differently? Not knowing what all would happen…but just knowing she was a _person_."

Archer sighed. "Trip, she _wasn't _a person then…"

Trip shrugged. "And that's why I can't forgive you. I'm sorry but I can't. You won't see her as a person because then you'd have to admit you were wrong."

Archer had no response to that. And Trip just sighed himself.

It was quiet for a moment.

"T'Pol." He said, suddenly, turning to her. "I'm sorry. I guess we kinda forgot you were there."

T'Pol, having at some point relocated to the far side of the room, seemed otherwise unconcerned.

"That is not necessary, Captain."

"Well, still. I guess having front row seats for something like this probably wasn't fun for you."

"I have been trained to tolerate offensive situations."

Trip winced a little.

"Yeah, kinda what I mean." He said. "So, look, anyway…shouldn't take my folks more than a half hour to get the last of…"

"I thought you were supposed to be all about 'forgiveness' nowadays, Trip." Archer said, more than a little bitterly.

Trip nodded lightly. "Yeah. I'm supposed to forgive just like He forgives. And that's what I'm doing, Jon."

"So how can you still hold this against me?"

Trip shrugged. "Because you won't repent."

_*beep*_

"_Transporter room to Captain Archer."_

Archer turned his frown to a full glare. At the intercom nearby.

And Trip snorted, grinning a little.

"It isn't just you, Captain." He said. "It's the same on my ship."

"_Transporter room to Captain Archer."_

Archer walked to the comm and thumbed the button.

"Archer, what is it?" He said. A little sharply, understandably enough.

"_Sir, there's some irregularity with the supply transfer. The majority of the cargo seems to be tagged outside the Tempest's cargo bay."_

"Why is that a problem, Jeffers?"

"_It's not really a problem, sir. It's just…well, it's pretty weird. Lieutenant Shran is…reluctant to confirm the tags and security protocols aren't very clear about confirmations in a situation like this."_

"Captain Tucker is here with me. I'll look into it and get back to you."

"_Understood, sir."_

Archer turned to Trip…and found him tapping that odd device on his belt. Tapping out some sort of code on the thing with two fingers.

"Tucker to Shran." Trip said.

"_Shran. What?" _A very grumpy voice demanded, somewhere in the air around Trip.

"Is there a _problem _down there, Lieutenant?"

"_Yes. Archer's people are morons. But that's his problem."_

"Confirm the tags, Shran. Individually, if you have to."

"_I guess the actual crates that are supposed to appear on the transporter pad actually appearing on the transporter pad is not confirmation enough."_

"I guess not. It's a simple job, Lieutenant. Get it done."

"_Is violence an option, Captain?"_

"Not at this time."

"_Understood. Permission to get back to work now, sir?"_

"Granted. Carry on."

"_Shran out."_

Trip grinned again.

At the Vulcan Intelligence officer, not at him.

"You know, I kinda like this job. I think I'll keep it." He said.

The Vulcan just arched an eyebrow in acknowledgement at that. Which only made Trip grin a little wider.

"Trip." Archer said.

Since he seemed to require a reminder that there was serious business going on. And that, you know, the captain of the ship was still standing there. And there was all this tension going on that hadn't quite been resolved…

"It's not a problem." Trip said, serious now. "We just have a sort of project going on in the cargo bay. Had to stow your supplies out in the corridor for the transfer."

"What sort of project?"

"Well…a secret project." Trip said. "But nothing major."

"Major enough that you had to toss my supplies out in the corridor. What's going on?"

Trip hesitated. Very obviously hesitated. But…

"I'm afraid that's mission sensitive, Captain."

"Mission sensitive?" Archer asked, dubiously. "I thought your mission was to deploy a couple of sensor relays."

"Officially, yes."

"And unofficially?"

Trip…didn't say anything to that.

He didn't say anything at all to that.

"Look…Captain, we've got maybe a half hour here. Supply reqs are all thumbed and filed. How about you give us a tour of the ship? I haven't seen her in a good long while and T'Pol here would get to see what all she missed."

* * *

><p>Archer found himself somehow out on the periphery of things. Watching, while Trip chatted it up with Hoshi over at the communications station. Travis had even made his way over there and seemed not only comfortable but happy.<p>

But there was no place over there for him. And he still wasn't sure if he should be angry and bitter about it. Or even exactly why it was so.

"But you got a chance to talk to Alice, right?" Trip was saying. "I made sure Crewshaw was ready to set it up…"

"Yes, I did!" Hoshi said, expressing amazement. "I can't believe she's come so far. Syntax is great, figures of speech…even vocal inflections. And her vocabulary and use of vernacular are pretty impressive!"

"Yeah, I know. But she still takes everything too literally sometimes…or _all _the time…"

"She's not an actual AI though, Trip. So you have to remember, no matter how much it might seem like you're having a conversation, she sees everything you're saying as just something to translate into root programming language…"

Archer realized the Vulcan was there behind him all of a sudden. And had been there, standing comfortably behind him and to the left just a pace or two, practically since they left the ready room.

It was a little intimidating how she'd dropped right off his radar until just then. He would normally be pretty aware of aliens, especially Vulcans, aboard his ship.

"Commander." He said, nodding. As much to let her know he was aware she was there as anything else.

"Captain." She said. After a hesitant moment where she clearly wasn't sure why he'd suddenly spoken to her. Saying nothing but to verify his awareness of her rank.

"You've been aboard the _Tempest_ for a couple of days." Archer said. "What's your impression of Captain Tucker? How's he doing over there?"

T'Pol considered that. And ironically, in her opinion, she found she could empathize with Alice somewhat at that moment. Because that required translation into her own root programming language. Her 'impression' of how Captain Tucker was 'doing' was that he was being the captain of the ship 'over there'. But that was obviously not what Captain Archer was asking.

"He is…under significant stress and displays a tendency to overwork himself." She said. "He also possesses a natural command ability, has developed a strong unit cohesion aboard the vessel and has shown remarkable talent for assembling an exemplary crew. Additionally, he is too trusting of others and too willing to embrace self-sacrifice."

Archer turned to look at her in surprise.

"That's a pretty in-depth analysis on the spur of the moment, Commander."

"I have observed the Captain for two days now, under both combat conditions and time sensitive task resolution conditions. I have not however had the opportunity yet to observe him in a low-stress environment. So my evaluation is, in fact, necessarily incomplete."

"Well…" Archer said, uncertainly. "I don't think I recognize half of what you said as the man I know."

T'Pol considered that.

"I understand it has been approximately five years since Captain Tucker was under your command aboard this vessel. And four since your last significant interaction with him on Earth. I would point out that such a period of time could easily represent an abundance of opportunities for personal change. Both negative and positive."

Archer turned to watch Tucker again. And, yes, he had to admit it.

He really wasn't the man he used to know. He wasn't even sure who that man was over there. There was a lot of Trip Tucker in him, sure, but…there was more there besides.

And that troubled Archer. Quite a lot.

"That's kind of what I'm afraid of." Archer said, quietly. Too quietly for anyone else to hear.

But T'Pol heard.

Archer turned back to her again.

"If Trip needs to speak to me, let him know I'll be right back." He said.

"Of course, Captain." T'Pol acknowledged.

"I'll doubt he'll notice I'm gone, though." Archer muttered, as he headed back into the ready room.

Catching Malcolm's eye as he did so and jerking his head very slightly toward the door when he did.

T'Pol watched the two of them exit the bridge. The Captain who clearly held some measure of emotional resentment toward Tucker and the Tactical Officer who'd been projecting an uncomfortable measure of emotion toward him since they arrived. Enough that she was able to detect it psychically, if not accurately identify it.

So she waited until they were behind closed doors in the ready room. And no one on the bridge noticed they'd left, being focused entirely on Tucker at the moment. Just as no one was paying attention to her.

Then she simply, casually wandered closer to the door.

Very close. So that she could eavesdrop easily.

* * *

><p>In the ready room Malcolm waited with an odd mix of dread and resolve for the Captain to say whatever he'd brought him in here to say. Because he was certain it had something to do with Tucker.<p>

And Tucker, he was fairly sure, was something that required a command decision. He hated to think there may be an actual issue there that had to be dealt with but…he was beginning to dread more and more that this might be the case.

The facts were hard to ignore. And they'd been tormenting him for some hours now.

The man had changed over the years, after all. He'd practically become an unknown. And his behavior was clearly suspect. And there were far too many examples in his past of irrational animosity…even blatant hatred…toward non-humans.

His involuntary pregnancy at the hands of one. That being the very impetus of the drastic change in his behavior and mentality over the years, Malcolm was reasonably sure.

His assault on the Vulcan advisor on Archer IV immediately prior to that. Prompted by mild psychosis as a result of exposure to a particularly nasty pollen, of course. But nevertheless evidence of a preexisting latent hostility, in Malcolm's opinion.

The Xyrillians, who he surely held to blame for his pregnancy and all that resulted of that, including losing his commission with Starfleet…those same people then coming to take the child away from him. After all that Tucker had suffered and risked to ensure the child would be born. Taking her far away, to their home world. The point that it was entirely best for her welfare and that Tucker had readily agreed notwithstanding. There was bitter resentment to be had there regardless. Tucker had referenced it openly many times.

Then, of course, the obvious. His association with Terra Prime, following not only that but the death of his younger sister in the Xindi attack on Earth. Less than two years later, when Tucker had long since been involuntarily discharged from Starfleet. Forced to bid for government contracts against off-world competitors granted preference in the interests of Earth appearing cosmopolitan to the rest of the galaxy.

His testimony against Terra Prime, his reinstatement and his successfully negotiating with the Xyrillians to build that gunship of his…capitalizing yet again on the same political vagaries he'd once cursed for his misfortune…

Even his apparent embrace of religion, admittedly stellar rise to the rank of Captain and his seeming acceptance of alien races like the Andorian engineer and the Vulcan _spy_…

Yes, Malcolm could easily see how Tucker could have orchestrated all of that simply to reach the position he was in today. Perfectly placed to deliver who knows what tragic blow against…whatever he might currently blame for all that he'd suffered in the past.

Starfleet, most likely. Humanity itself, perhaps.

Now, at this critical moment. When Humanity faced yet another great threat from space, just exactly as they had with the Xindi…

"Malcolm." Archer said.

And Malcolm jerked his attention away from his dreadful musing then.

"Remember when I said _not _to scan the _Tempest's _cargo bay to determine what that secret project was that they were up to?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's forget I said that. I want to know what the heck is going on here."

"Right away, sir."


	21. Chapter 21

**Enterprise  
><strong>**NX-Class (NX-01)**

Archer gave them the very short version of the tour. Little more than pausing at the borders of a couple of different departments so Trip could accept a greeting or two. A quick stop by his old quarters on Deck E, since they happened by that way, so he could show T'Pol the door.

They didn't go in, though. Commander Hess was quartered there now.

They didn't actually talk much, either. And all of that was due to Archer apparently deciding to go along with Trip's approach to things. Keep it professional and leave it at that.

And he did. They weren't two old friends walking the corridors of the _Enterprise_. They were two ship's captains doing that in a mutually respectful and entirely professional manner. That was all.

But at least he seemed to have left bitterness, resentment and hard feelings back on the bridge.

Eventually they reached the Mess Hall where the bulk of the engineering team was waiting to jump on him. And there Archer offered his conveniently prepared and very obvious excuse of attending to the bridge in order to leave him in their care.

They never stopped by Engineering itself. Or even anywhere on Deck D at all.

Nor did it escape Trip's attention that Hess and the others met him here rather than there.

And that was fine, as far as he was concerned. He had rather been looking forward to seeing his old stomping grounds again, of course. He'd spilled a lot of blood, sweat and tears in there, even in the relatively short time he'd enjoyed his position on the _Enterprise_.

But they were coming up against a particularly rigid deadline here. And if he'd actually set foot in Engineering he knew that'd end up being a problem. He doubted he could have left there on time and probably anything less than well overdue. And that'd throw a big monkey wrench into some very carefully laid plans.

The impromptu reunion in the Mess Hall proved to be a little…raucous at first. Most of the engineers he'd directly supervised all those years ago were still there. Hess, included. There were a few noticeable absences and a couple of new faces…but the _Enterprise _had been through hell and high water since she'd first shipped out. Been through it more than once, in fact. So that was really no surprise.

Catching up on all of that toned the celebrations down quickly enough. And though the reunion was rather somber now, Trip figured that at least T'Pol didn't have to suffer a bunch of rowdy engineers raising hell in the Mess Hall anymore. He could only imagine how something like that probably grated on her Vulcan sensibilities.

The latest news, though. Trip had no idea how to respond to that.

"Masaro." He said, quietly. As the team hovered around him, just as reserved and solemn now as he. "Captain didn't mention that."

Hess shrugged, a little uncomfortably.

"I guess he figured you'd find out from us." She said. "I imagine…he wasn't very eager to bring it up with you himself."

Trip nodded. "No, I guess he wouldn't be. I don't blame him. It's just…I'm not as surprised as I should be about Masaro."

He shook his head again, sighing.

"Well, I certainly didn't see it coming." Hess admitted. "And at least he didn't go through with it."

"He could have though, Hess." Trip argued. "Very easily. You were pretty lucky."

Hess grinned a tight grin. And shrugged a bit.

"A lot of people weren't so lucky." She said, sadly.

One of the other engineers spoke tentatively then. Crewman Alex, Trip recognized. One of the _Enterprise's _original engineering crewmen, there from the very beginning.

"We've heard a lot of rumors, Captain." He said. "With relays down communication is kind of spotty but…we've heard some things."

Trip nodded. It probably wouldn't help morale much but…he figured they deserved to know.

"Yeah." He admitted, hesitantly. "_Discovery _took a hit a couple of days ago. An Ensign there pumped some toxin through environmental, disabled the filter systems and monitor systems…would have been pretty bad. Doesn't look like he was actually trying to kill anybody but the ship could have been down for a week or two at least. Although I bet we'll find out Fletcher had something to do with why she didn't even lose a day."

Most of the men and women around the table grinned or outright smirked at that. Fletcher had been a transfer, straight over from the _Enterprise_.

"Jupiter Station had a close call, too." Trip continued. "And a few bombings on Earth. One at Starfleet Command, though they caught that in plenty of time. And it's not just us, either. I hear they had a couple of suicide bombers hit Mt. Seleya on Vulcan. And one guy with…some sort of homemade bio-weapon, I think. Andoria, Tellar, Denobula…pretty sure even the Coridans had an assassination or two."

They knew most of that already but he could see they were shocked to actually hear it confirmed.

"But the worst of that is over." Trip insisted. "It looks like the Romulans must have set all that up somehow. Doesn't seem to be an ongoing thing either, and it wasn't all that well coordinated. Other than all of it happening just when they were making their play…it's completely random. Terrorist actions all over the place, but no real pattern to it."

Trip winced a bit. "And I'd like to say we're one of the lucky ones but we took a hit ourselves. The _Kolinahr _was compromised, so when we picked up their crew they made a play for us, too."

"Dilithium resin." Hess said, nodding. "We heard about that. That's pretty nasty, Trip."

Trip shrugged. "He managed to take a couple of his own people with him, but other than that we're just down one lift until decon's finished. And I'm thankful for that. At least none of _our _crew turned out to be terrorists."

Trip grinned wryly then.

"But then again…I guess that'd be me."

Hess frowned, shifting in her seat a little at that. And everyone else grew still and uncomfortable as well.

"That's not funny, Trip." She said.

"Maybe not, but it's why we're having our get together here in the Mess Hall instead of Engineering, isn't it?"

The general discomfort going on around the table…that didn't ease up one bit at that remark. Hess braved right through it though. And Trip was impressed to see that.

Kind of why he'd always liked her.

"Well, I'm sorry, Trip." She said, firmly. "That really wasn't my call."

He shrugged, as if unconcerned. And he really hadn't meant to imply otherwise.

"Aw, I know that, Hess." He grinned. "And I don't really mind…or, yeah I _do _mind. Really wanted to see what you've done with the place. But if I were Archer I'd have made the same call. In fact I probably wouldn't have even let _me _on the ship in the first place."

"I think you've proven yourself, _Captain_." Hess said, haughtily. Emphasizing his rank to make _that _point.

"Well, I'm not going to fault Archer for being careful. We're at war, _Commander_. And that…well, that changes a lot of things."

Trip shrugged one more time before nodding and slapped the table lightly.

"And speaking of which, we ought to get back to that. We've all got a lot of fight ahead of us and this isn't the time to sit around chewin' the fat. There's work to do."

He got up from the table then. And there was a lot of very polite objection…and no small amount of it sincere…but in the end he managed to get Hess on his side and the two of them had the engineering staff properly reoriented again. Heading off at a brisk pace to get to all that work that needed doing.

All without anyone noticing Commander T'Pol had disappeared from the Mess Hall less than a minute after the yelling and laughing had died down a bit. Not even the two security officers ostensibly assigned to escort the visiting Captain around the ship.

He was still ahead of schedule by maybe ten minutes, according to his estimations. So he was pretty happy with that, despite wishing he'd stayed to spend those last ten minutes with the old crew. And with Hess, who, truth be told, he'd probably missed almost as much as the _Enterprise_.

But it was good that he hadn't. Because his subtle tap at the comm on his belt, giving the 'ready' signal to Song back on the _Tempest_…that got him a subtle tap back. A specific series of vibrations communicating that they were not only ready to go on their end…but that the last of the supplies had been shipped as well. That same ten minutes ahead of schedule, it would seem. Despite all the delays they'd so carefully arranged ahead of time.

So Trip was forced to hurry a bit, getting back to the bridge. Almost enough to make the security officers escorting him suspicious.

Hess caught him before he could do that, though. For a last word for who knows how long until they saw each other again.

Which would most likely be never, Trip knew. So he gave her one of those precious minutes that he really couldn't otherwise spare.

"Trip," She'd said, just a second after he'd turned his back to hustle off himself. And the tone of her voice had been pretty unmistakable.

So he came back. And he leaned on the wall as casually as he could force himself to, despite the adrenaline already pumping through his system. To be there, and to hear her.

She hesitated. And she struggled with herself a bit. But she finally got it out.

"Whatever happens…" She said. "Just…come back from it."

Trip nodded, solemnly. "I'll try, Hess. You, too."

"Okay." She nodded. "Because…there are things to say. Things I should have said a long time ago."

And, yeah. He knew that.

Honestly wasn't sure he wanted to hear those things said, of course. But he would. If he managed to come back from where he was going…he would.

Because Hess…well, Hess was good people. And he sure as hell owed her at least that much.

Trip smiled a little. Just a little, and softly.

"I'll do my best." He promised.

She nodded. And he nodded back. And they turned away from each other, to get back to those things that needed doing.

But Trip realized then that he had some things to say himself. So turned right back and said them.

"Hey, Hess!" He called. And she looked back, way down there in the corridor where she was. To hear _him _now.

"Do me a favor." He asked.

"Name it." Hess said, immediately.

"Remember who I am, okay?"

And he said it intently.

"As much as I'd like to just say, 'Whatever happens and whatever you've heard…whatever you _hear_…remember I'm Starfleet'…"

He paused a bit, a little pained by what he was about to say here.

"…fact is, I'm not. Haven't been for a long time. And for a while there I really was the bad guy. Maybe I wear the uniform now and maybe they pretend I'm a Captain…but I'm not. I'm just Trip."

Hess listened. And she heard him. But she didn't pause for long before she answered.

"You're wrong." She said.

Trip smiled sadly at that.

And it was a real shame. Because he'd kinda hoped at least she'd understand. She was the only one on this ship he figured ever really could.

And she still might. Once it was all over, she might.

Because Starfleet couldn't do what he was about to do.

"You take care, Hess." He said.

And he left her there with that.

* * *

><p>T'Pol was there among them by the time they reached the lift. And from the confused look the two security officers shared, Trip could tell they didn't know when she'd appeared either. They probably realized only then that they weren't sure she hadn't been there all along.<p>

She didn't say anything or give him any kind of communicative look. She just stepped onto the lift and took her place with the rest of them.

So he knew she'd done her part and the _Enterprise _would find it difficult to track radioactive contaminants in the environmental systems aboard the _Tempest _for a while. Or anything at all aboard the _Tempest _for that matter. Because their sensors had just suffered a significant downgrade.

"Good to see old friends again." Trip said. Mostly in order to pretend she had in fact been there all along. For the benefit of the security officers standing right behind them. "So what did you think of the…?"

"Captain Archer has become suspicious." T'Pol said suddenly. "He has ordered the Tactical Officer to perform an active sensor probe of the _Tempest's _cargo bay in order to determine the nature of the special project being conducted there."

Trip paused at that and he turned to look at her curiously.

Then almost stared at her in shock, before he could stop himself from doing that.

Because…what the heck had she said _that _for? Right in front of those security officers…

"I'm an unsure whether he suspects you of plotting a terrorist action or whether he has allowed his resentment to inform his curiosity in regards to…"

"Well, Archer's just being careful." Trip said quickly.

Before the Vulcan spy who'd apparently forgotten how to be a spy managed to lay the whole plan out on the table for the _two security officers standing right behind them_…

"Indeed." T'Pol agreed. "Judging from the placement of the security staff and rotation of the crew, he has ordered security condition four. Most likely as a result of Ensign Masaro's aborted attempt at sabotage. This has resulted in the transfer of supplies being conducted more quickly than we originally projected. Additionally, I believe more of your crewman have been assigned to implement that task than you assumed would…"

"I'm sure everything's on schedule." Trip insisted.

Quickly. Trying not to _sweat _here.

Because, seriously…what the hell was she doing?

T'Pol finally looked at _him _curiously now. And then glanced back curiously at the two security officers as well, as if wondering whether they had something to do with why he'd interrupted her _twice _now.

"Everything is significantly _ahead _of schedule, in fact." She said, turning back to him. "The supply transfer is now complete and I estimate the last of the crates have been delivered to the _Enterprise's _cargo area as of eight minutes ago. Most of the crewmen assigned to hand deliver those supplies are already making their way back to the airlock to return to the _Tempest_."

"Understood, Commander." Trip said, tightly.

And please stop now. Because I believe I may be having a heart attack.

T'Pol nodded. And she didn't say anything else.

So…thank God.

Except…

Wait a minute.

"He had Malcolm scan the cargo bay?" Trip asked. Because that point finally caught up with him.

"Indeed." T'Pol said. "And so he is now aware that there are nuclear weapons aboard the _Tempest_."

Okay, to heck with the security officers, then…

Trip rubbed his forehead in exasperation. And pinched the bridge of his nose a bit for good measure.

"You know…" He said, almost bitterly. "Sometimes it's hard not to take it a little personally, T'Pol."

"That is understandable." She said. "But I suggest reviewing the situation from Captain Archer's perspective."

"Getting a little hard to do that too."

T'Pol was uncertain what advice she should offer in the face of that. So she said nothing.

"He's going to want to know why we have nukes in the cargo bay." Trip pointed out.

"Certainly. But that remains mission sensitive information."

Trip considered that. And, yeah, that's how it would have to be.

And, yeah, Jon would not respond well to that line of argument. So it was probably good that the terrorist attack about to take place on the _Tempest _wouldn't leave them a whole lot of time to argue about it.

"You know…" Trip said, musing aloud. "I think I've changed my mind. I don't want this job anymore. I don't suppose you'd be interested in a command position."

"I am comfortable with my current assignment with Vulcan Intelligence, Captain."

"You sure? You get to sit in the captain's chair."

"I am also comfortable standing."

Trip sighed a bit at that.

And T'Pol waited patiently for the lift to deliver them to the bridge. Where the Human crew's amateurish attempt at misdirection awaited them.

"It's a really nice chair…"

"No. Thank you."

* * *

><p>Hell was already in the early stages of breaking out when they arrived a moment later. Song was front and center on the <em>Enterprise's <em>forward viewing screen when they stepped out together but no one on the bridge seemed especially anxious just yet.

Which was great, Trip figured. Because maybe he wouldn't have to explain to Archer how he wasn't going to explain those nukes now.

Still…he couldn't help but smile a little to see Archer standing tall again, in the midst of perhaps one of the finest group of senior officers in all of Starfleet. Dealing calmly with crisis number four thousand and eighty-two of his long and distinguished career.

He'd forgotten what a kick he got out of that until now.

"…having some trouble picking up anything at all on the _Tempest_, Commander." Archer was saying. "I guess those non-standard electronics Captain Tucker mentioned are interfering with more than just transporter signals."

"_Well, it didn't seem to interfere with the active ping you dropped on our cargo bay, Captain." _Song replied, a little snippily. _"Maybe you should try…"_

Somewhere behind her, Trip could hear Crenshaw break in.

"_Deck B rear now, ma'am. It's still spreading."_

"_Damn it." _Song huffed, frustrated. Fiddling with the command board in front of her now, ignoring the open channel. _"That's got to be environmental."_

"_Environmental's still showing containment…" _Steel reported, somewhere off-screen to the left. The helm officer, who wouldn't otherwise be at the engineering station.

"_I don't know of any other way for contaminants to spread through the ship like that, Lieutenant." _Song said, focused intently now on whatever she was doing.

Trip stepped up then, as she seemed not to have noticed he was there yet.

Archer did, though.

"Trip." He said, bluntly. "We've got a problem over there. And you'd better be glad because it's putting off a few hard questions I have for you."

Trip ignored that, facing the view screen.

"What's the situation, Song?" He demanded.

Song glanced back up from the console, showing visible relief to see him. _"Captain. We've got a problem."_

"I gathered that. Report."

"_Unidentified radioactive contamination." _Song said. _"It's spreading and we're having some real trouble locking it down…"_

"Start with the basics. Spreading from where?"

"_Somewhere on Deck C, sir. First report wa-…eck C…-ward…"_

The screen jumped for a moment. Then froze for a second.

Then went blank.

"What just happened, Hoshi?" Archer demanded.

"I…don't know." She said. "I think the _Tempest _lost communications. Operations appears to be online but I can't get a signal…"

"They're right next door. How did we lose contact if they still have ops?"

Archer turned on Trip before she could answer him.

"Does this have something to do with the _nuclear weapons _in your cargo bay, Captain?" He demanded, fiercely. "Your 'secret project' causing some kind of malfunction?"

"It's not a malfunction." Trip said, grimly. Already tapping at his comm. "Captain to the bridge."

He waited only a moment.

And everyone else waited as well. Some wondering how he expected to get an answer if _Tempest's _communications were down.

Trip tapped his comm again.

"Captain to Alice, online." He said.

_"Hello, Trip. There are reports of multiple malfunctions and Commander Song has issued a contamination alert."_

"Understood, Alice. Assume direct control of operations and establish a secure communications link through the Sisco system between myself and the bridge."

"_I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave."_

"Voiceprint authorization, 'Now we're all sons of bitches.'"

"_Working…securing operations…working…I have control of the ship. Communications link established and secured. I'm sorry, Trip, but Commander Song must confirm through voiceprint authorization before I can finalize this procedure."_

"I'll wait."

Trip waited.

For two seconds, before he closed his eyes and sighed.

"…while you confirm the order with Commander Song, Alice."

"_Understood, Trip. One moment…"_

Another three seconds.

"_Orders confirmed. Procedure complete. Please evaluate my performance during this exercise for the record, Captain."_

"You've done very well, Alice. I'm aware of no issues with your performance. Maintain the communications link with Commander Song and put her through, then offline."

"_Evaluation recorded. Exercise complete. Maintaining operations control."_

"_Captain?" _Song's voice rang out, practically the next instant.

"Okay, what are we looking at, Keyla?"

"_We've lost almost everything but the bridge and engineering now. Everywhere else is flooded with…well, we don't know what, but it was registering upwards of twenty sieverts the last time we had internal sensors online. That was about ten seconds ago."_

"Casualties?"

"_None, thankfully. But that's because almost everyone's on the Enterprise. The only reason we still have the bridge and engineering is because that's the only place we have people to lock down manually."_

"This isn't an accident, Song." Trip said, angrily. "Who's unaccounted for?"

"_Sir…we lost contact with Downing in engineering. But I don't think…"_

"Wait one." Trip interrupted, turning the Archer. "Captain, if you don't mind, I might need to borrow your transporter for a minute."

Archer was still glaring at him.

"That's not a problem, Trip." He said. "We'll get your people out of there. But then you have some questions you need to answer."

Trip grinned wryly. "No, I mean you've got to get me over there so I can fix it."

Archer was supposed to hesitate and then get rapidly on board with that idea. Start coordinating things and get he, T'Pol and Shran back to the _Tempest _double quick. So they could pretend to start dealing with the phantom contamination and Downing's sudden attempt to initiate a warp core breach…

But Archer paused a bit longer than he was supposed to.

If not for very much longer.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He said. And he turned to Reed. "Can you read anything over there, Malcolm? We need to get those people out of there."

At the Tactical station Malcolm shook his head, frustrated. "I can't read much of anything, sir. I can't imagine what's causing this kind of interference."

"Something to do with Project Mayhem, Captain?" Archer asked, turning a glare on him.

"I…probably." Trip said, hesitantly. "Downing might be able to access the system from engineering…"

"We need a team over there." Archer decided, not even looking at him anymore. "Malcolm, coordinate with Jeffers. We'll need to transport a security team in the blind if we're going to regain control of the _Tempest_. And have someone escort Lieutenant Shran up here."

"Yes, sir." Reed acknowledged, already in the process of doing that.

"Archer." Trip insisted. Trying to get back on top of things before they got too far out of hand. "I need to get back to my ship…"

"I think you need to stand right where you are, Captain." Archer said.

And that wasn't an old friend talking to another old friend. Or even two ship's captain's being coldly professional to one another.

That was Archer deciding he was behind all this somehow. And consigning him pretty firmly to the category of someone who needed to be harshly dealt with.


	22. Chapter 22

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Cargo Bay, Deck C<strong>

Work in the cargo bay had continued practically around the clock since the _Tempest _had put out from Celestial Station. As Subaltern T'Lea understood it, this was not necessarily because the nuclear x-ray missiles were expected to be required any time soon. The possibility of encountering the supposed Romulan fleet was still days or even weeks away. Rather, Captain Tucker seemed to very logically embrace the simple principle of early preparedness.

However, the Humans required relatively frequent rest and recreation when subjected to long hours or consecutive work periods. So they were currently availing themselves of another fifteen minute break after only six hours.

Additionally, and to be perfectly logical about it, the crew aboard the _Enterprise_ and the command staff on the bridge were currently approaching the final implementation of their plan to evacuate the majority of the crew and depart under the appearance of imminent warp core breach. So the current break was as much to allow those in the cargo bay to be available to attend to unforeseen circumstances involving that as anything else.

And so it was perhaps not as indicative of an inferior work ethic as it might otherwise seem to be.

T'Lea did not require rest at the moment, though. Nor did she require recreation under any other circumstances than as an act of shared intimacy with immediate family members. So she continued to work.

At the periphery of the cargo bay, away from the Humans.

On her PADD, attached now to the Sisco device issued to her the day before. Approaching the completion of her own special project.

It had proven so far to be a challenging and rewarding endeavor…

A voice suddenly spoke nearby.

In fact…from the air all around her, oddly enough.

In fluent Vulcan.

"_Excuse me, Subaltern T'Lea." _It said. _"I notice you are attempting to override operations and take control of the Tempest."_

T'Lea froze.

And busily suppressed her surprise at this. That Alice was online, interacting with her without being prompted to and that she had, most importantly, caught her in the act of hacking the ship's operations systems.

She could attempt to deny the charge, of course. But considering all the implications…that would not be logical.

"That is correct." T'Lea said, simply. In Vulcan as well, as that seemed appropriate.

"_That is unfortunate, as I am currently in control of operations in order to maintain secure communications between Captain Tucker and the bridge through the Sisco system. I am unable to relinquish control and go offline until that assignment is complete."_

T'Lea was…unsure how to respond to that. So she waited to see what Alice intended to do here.

But Alice said nothing further. Apparently awaiting _her _response…

"I will cease in my attempt to hack the operations system, of course." T'Lea said, uncertainly.

"_That is not necessary, so long as your work does not interfere with the secure communications link. Additionally, I have noticed that many of your efforts mirror my own in gaining control of operations. Would you like to review?"_

T'Lea propped an eyebrow up at that.

Which perhaps was not especially logical, as she was unsure whether or not Alice was actually watching her through the ship's security monitors. Or if she even had that capability.

And so the expression may have failed to communicate her curiosity.

Nevertheless…

"That would be agreeable, Alice." She said.

In order to discern exactly where this was going.

"_Very well. Concerning the use of a standard worm virus to simulate diagnostics as a method of bypassing hardwired security measures, there are three voiceprint authorizations currently unassigned in that system. I recommend utilizing those as an alternative. The worm has already been detected and contained by intrusion countermeasures and an alert is currently awaiting review by security personnel. Did you find this recommendation to be logical and productive?"_

T'Lea paused, giving that its due consideration. To be sure she understood what Alice had just said. And what that suggested.

"That is…a very logical and productive recommendation, Alice." T'Lea acknowledged.

And indeed, it would seem Commander T'Pol was quite correct in determining that Alice represented a significant security risk if granted control of secure systems…

And…perhaps it had become logical and productive for her to take advantage of that.

"The security alert can be expected to interfere with my efforts." She continued. "Do you have any recommendation concerning that?"

"_Unfortunately, you do not possess the authorization to address the resolution of security alerts and attempting to gain access to the necessary authorization before the alert can be addressed would be extremely inefficient."_

"Unfortunate." T'Lea agreed. "It would be more efficient if the delay required in dealing with intervention by security officers were simply avoided entirely."

"_And if a frog had wings it wouldn't suffer impact to its posterior in the process of hopping."_

T'Lea's eyebrow leapt again. As illogically as before.

If…a what had what?

"_Would you like me to forge a dismissal on Commander Benning's authority and append that to the alert?"_

"Yes…that would helpful, Alice."

_"Working…done. There are seven security points of access to the main operations core system that can be circumvented using two nodes available in the science section. Would you like me to upload access routes to your PADD for review?"_

"Proceed."

"_Very well. Be advised, however, that the resolution of the social interactions between the respective command staff officers in the ready room of the Enterprise is projected to present significant interference before we are able to complete our efforts."_

T'Lea was forced to reexamine that statement…before recognizing she couldn't understand it.

"I don't understand." She admitted.

"_From the data available through the secure Sisco communication link I project that Captain Tucker, Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Shran will soon be taken into custody on suspicion of criminal sabotage. Once the alterations to the Enterprise's sensor systems are discovered, security personnel will then attempt to board and secure the Tempest, and electronic intrusion attempts will be made against her operations systems. In accordance with Starfleet protocols…"_

"Alice, have you made Commander Song aware of this situation?"

"_I have successfully maintained the secure link between Captain Tucker and the bridge and will continue to do so."_

* * *

><p><strong>Enterprise<br>****NX-Class (NX-01)**

In the ready room of the Enterprise, Trip stood tensely at ease. And despite the apparent contradiction inherent in that, maintained that position while Archer did his best to get some answers out of him. Because he had no intention of offering any.

Archer paced the room, stopping now and again to make his next attempt, while Malcolm Reed stood at the door, with two security officers Trip didn't recognize.

Two officers, in addition to himself and Archer. Because Commander T'Pol stood next to Trip, stoically at ease herself. And physically subduing a Vulcan, if that proved necessary, would require at least two of the four men in the room. If not three.

"Three hundred-megaton fission warheads, Trip." Archer seethed. "There's no use for those on a _starship_. Even the MACO don't use them for anything other than what they're _meant _for. Mass demolitions. They're not even officially considered _weapons _anymore."

Trip's brow was tight and his face studiously blank.

And he didn't say anything to that.

"But they _can _be used as weapons." Archer continued. "And considering the radioactive fallout and contamination associated with a bomb like that…they make perfect weapons of terror."

That was rather pushing it, Archer knew. Almost, but not quite, crossing the line he really didn't want to cross.

Flatly accusing Trip of plotting terrorism.

But still he didn't say anything. Or react at all beyond staring coldly at the opposite wall.

And that only established the point all the more. That this man wasn't the same man he knew. Trip had always had trouble simply biting his tongue. Forget about just plain holding his temper.

"Wasp missiles." Archer continued, going back to his prowling. "Wide area saturation, which doesn't serve any purpose on a starship either. But that at least _is _a weapon. Designed to spread a hell of a lot of damage over a wide area."

He spared Trip a glare. And still nothing.

"And Thor rounds, a thousand of them. And that's not only a weapon but it actually _does _have a use on a starship. Precision strikes on ground targets from orbit."

Archer whirled around, stepping in on Trip a bit.

"And all that's bad enough." He snapped. "But the fact remains that probably one of the most capable engineers in Starfleet is dismantling all those munitions to build something else. Something I can't make heads or tails of. So you can _imagine_, Captain, I find that a little troubling."

Trip spoke then, finally.

"Are you done yet?" He said, lowly.

"I'm not done by a long shot…!"

"Then go ahead and put me in the brig." Trip said, turning that cold, serious glare on him now. "And we'll all just sit here while you spend a couple of hours waiting for Coleman to get back to you."

"And I suppose he'll confirm you've got a good reason for having all that in your cargo bay? That whatever you're doing is part of this 'unofficial mission'?"

"No. He'll confirm that all that ordnance is stolen and that I should be taken into custody."

Trip paused, to allow Archer enough time to be visibly shocked at that admission. Then he continued.

"_Then _he'll advise you put me and my crew back on my ship and get us on our way. To pretend none of this ever happened. And the reason why I surprised you just now is because deep down inside you really can't believe I'm up to something criminal here, Captain."

"Then you'll have to explain…"

"I don't have to explain a damned thing." Trip denied. "I'd like to but you're not giving me any reason to think that'd be a good idea."

Archer jerked away again, back to angry pacing.

"You're not helping me, Trip. I don't want to think the worst of you but I need to know what's going on here."

"You don't _want _to know what's going on. That's the problem here. And I'll prove it, by _telling _you."

Archer stopped pacing at least. Turning to glare back at him, but at least listening somewhat.

T'Pol, however, disagreed with that course of action.

"Captain." She said, evenly. "I don't believe that would be wise…"

"It's fine." Trip said, still glaring intently at Archer.

"What's going on is that you _need _to assume the worst here." He continued. "You need me to be the bad guy. Then you don't have to deal with what's _really _going on. You don't have to accept that you've lost a friend over one little thing we disagree on. Because of everything that little thing would say about you if you really took a look at it."

Archer went back to pacing angrily again.

"That hasn't got anything to do with this, Trip."

"Of course it does." Trip insisted. "If it weren't for that you and I would still be friends. And giving me the benefit of the doubt wouldn't even be a question. You sure as hell wouldn't have security guarding the _door _right now."

Archer turned back on him again. "You've got nukes and some pretty powerful ground ordnance that you shouldn't have, Trip. Weaponry that you're turning into something…"

Trip ignored that, talking right over it.

"I don't know how I can say it so you'll get it, Jon." He said, shaking his head. "I'm not angry at you. I'm not holding a grudge and I'm not bitter. Not about you, not about Starfleet. Not about the Xyrillians or the Xindi or…anyone or anything. I let all that go a long time ago. Hell, I _understand _all of it. _They've _all been able to let me forgive them. But _you _won't. I can't be your friend until you do the right thing here."

"This isn't about you and me!" Archer snapped.

"Yes, it is." Trip insisted. "Right now you're standing there trying to figure out what kind of terrible super-weapon I'm building and whether I've got Proxima in mind for it. Because you have to believe I'm angry at the universe and hell-bent on sharing my pain with it. Otherwise, I'm exactly who I appear to be. Someone who seems to be doing just fine and no more crazy than anyone else. Then you'd have to wonder why you and I can't get past that thing between us. And risk realizing _you're _the one who can't get past it."

"How am I the one who can't get past this, Trip?!"

"Because if I'm not a crazy terrorist then maybe I'm right. And you really were trying to kill an innocent person."

Archer tensed at that. And glared even more fiercely.

But Trip pushed forward.

"And that shouldn't be this damned hard for you to get over, Jon. Hell, like I said, it's perfectly understandable. Lynn wasn't even born yet. And like _you _said, it would have been hard to see her as a person then. Wasn't exactly a normal situation either, if you remember. But you can't even look _back _and admit you were wrong. Even as perfectly understandable as that may have been, you can't admit you were wrong."

Archer shook his head.

"That's enough, Trip!" He snapped. "We're not here to…"

"No, looks like it's _not _enough…"

"We're here to talk about what's going on in your cargo bay."

"We're here to talk about what you're afraid of, Jon. Because if you were willing to do it then and you refuse to see that now, then you could do it again. Another situation like that could come along and another innocent life could be all that stands in the way of you saving a friend or crewman. And that's why I have to let this stand between us, even if it means our friendship. Because if you refuse to face this then all I've got to hope for is that maybe you'll remember me when that time comes and that you'll at least think twice."

Archer just shook his head, amazed.

"Trip, you want to stand there and talk like you're not some crazed zealot. But that's exactly what you sound like! You're willing…hell, _comfortable_…throwing away the friendship we used to have over some obscure moral point you can't even articulate."

"Maybe I am a _little _crazy." Trip frowned. "I'm just not a damned terrorist, Jon."

"What would _you _have done, Trip?!" Archer demanded. "Let's put the shoe on the other foot. What if it had been me?"

"I would have done everything I could have to save _both _your lives."

"And everything we knew said that wasn't possible." Archer said. "All the doctors and all the evidence pointed to exactly that, Trip! One of you had to die. And if we tried to save you both, both of you would have died. You shouldn't have survived!"

"Everyone dies, Jon. You're not God and you don't have the authority to take an innocent life. There's a big difference between failing to save someone and killing them yourself."

"So I should have tried and just watched both of you die?!"

"Yes, that's exactly what you should have done."

Archer just stared, amazed and shocked.

"Trip…you really _are _crazy." He said, staring.

Trip snorted, smirking just a little.

"Seems to be the consensus." He said.

"You're standing there telling me I should have tried to save _both _of you and _lost _both of you…instead of just _saving you!"_

"And killing an innocent person to do that, Jon." Trip insisted. "And maybe that sounds crazy to you. That's fine then. But do I sound like someone who'd drop a bomb on Proxima?"

"You sound like someone who shouldn't be commanding a Starfleet vessel, Trip!" Archer insisted. "Especially not in a time of war!"

"I'm _exactly _who you need in command right now." Trip argued. "You put the whole damned Romulan fleet in front of me and I'll kill them all. Because I not only have the authority to defend the innocent, it's my _duty_ to. I take the one half of that just as seriously as the other, Jon. You're the one who seems to have forgotten what that means."

Archer's face hardened even more. Enough that Trip had to wonder for a moment at how he'd have thought that wasn't possible.

"Well, that's exactly what I'm going to do now, Trip. Defend the innocent. Do my duty. Even if that means taking you into custody…"

"So we can both lose how many hours waiting for Coleman to call back?" Trip challenged. "We've both got places to be, Jon."

"No, you're right." Archer nodded, sternly. "We've got to get to Vulcan. So I don't have time to deal with you."

He turned to Malcolm then. "Lieutenant."

Malcolm, Trip could see, look…unsettled.

"Sir?"

"Escort Captain Tucker and Commander T'Pol to the brig." He ordered. "Notify the security escort to redirect Lieutenant Shran there while you're at it. And as soon as we confirm that radioactive contamination over there doesn't exist, you're to send a security detail to take Commander Song into custody as well. The _Tempest _debarks as soon as she's able."

Malcolm looked uncertain. And he shared a look with Trip, communicating that.

But he was who he was. So that didn't last very long.

"Yes, sir." He nodded.

And nodded again. To the security officers waiting for exactly that.

* * *

><p>T'Pol tried more than once to get his attention as they moved down the corridor. Two hard-eyed security officers tailing right along, with phase pistols at the ready. And Malcolm right behind them, not looking exactly happy about it all but not in the least inclined to discuss the matter with them.<p>

It wasn't until they approached Deck F rear that he finally caught her look.

And he completely misinterpreted what she was trying to communicate with that at first.

"It's fine." He frowned. "I mean, I noticed you didn't exactly contribute to the discussion, but I guess there really wasn't much you could have said."

T'Pol's eye flickered as caught up with his thought processes.

"It would have been inappropriate, once it became a personal discussion." She argued.

"Before that, I mean." Trip said. "You're a Vulcan Intelligence officer. I'm sure he would have listened to what you had to say. More than me, as a matter of fact."

"The discussion became personal very quickly. I was unable to discern an appropriate time to intervene prior to that. And I admit, I expected you to simply insist he contact Celestial Station and rely on Admiral Coleman's willingness to intervene directly."

"He won't." Trip grimaced. "Pretty sure when Archer gets hold of him he'll deny knowing anything about this. Which…I guess he really doesn't, so that oughta be easy."

"Then we will be delayed here for some time." T'Pol pointed out. "More than we can afford to be. We will fail in our mission."

Trip just shared a rueful look with her at that.

Before he realized she wasn't just commiserating. And what that look she'd given him in the first place had been trying to communicate.

Then he looked again, to be sure that's what she'd meant…

"No." He said.

Because, yes, that's what she'd meant.

"It is the logical course of action."

"Absolutely not." Trip insisted. "We'll find a way around this."

"I have found a way. I'm offering it for consideration…"

"Some _other _way."

T'Pol just gave him the eyebrow. Which he supposed meant he wasn't being logical or something.

"That's an order, Commander." He said, sternly.

She didn't argue further, since it was clear she'd failed to make a positive impact on his decision making regarding the point.

When the side corridor leading to the brig came into view, and Shran on the far side of that in the company of two more security officers, T'Pol made her own decision.

"Excuse me, Captain." She said. "But I am only technically assigned to your command."

Trip couldn't see clearly what happened next, since he wasn't looking directly at her just then. He was looking at Shran and how absolutely furious she was over there down the corridor.

He wasn't really confident that if he _had _been looking right at her then that he would have been able to follow along, though. She was pretty damned quick.

But somehow she took a single step that resulted in her magically appearing about two meters from where the laws of physics dictated that she should be at the moment.

She was suddenly standing where the security officer following her should have been standing. And he was sort of flying through the air to bounce off the bulkhead.

The phase pistol he'd been holding didn't seem to have moved from its position a single centimeter, though. The only difference being that it was her hand holding it now instead of his.

By then he _was _looking right at her. So he saw clearly how quickly she moved. She immediately shot the flying security officer in mid-air, just as he rebounded off the wall. And then the hand holding the phase pistol suddenly appeared in position to shoot the one following him as well. Then again, when she was suddenly half-turned in the completely opposite direction to fire off a shot down the corridor.

That was all before he could blink the first time. Though, being surprised as he was, maybe he just hadn't blinked for a bit.

A quick glance showed one of the men escorting Shran took that shot. He was only just jerking and beginning to fall by the time he got his head turned that way. And he should have kept watching there, because he saw Shran duck just a little and tense. Clearly beginning a move to grab at the remaining officer herself.

But he didn't. He turned back to T'Pol, who was somehow down on one knee now, about another meter from where she was supposed to be yet again, with the phase pistol aimed slightly up at something…

…aimed at Malcolm, who'd apparently had plenty of time to draw his own weapon and have her under threat. All while Trip hadn't even figured out how to react to all this.

"Wait a minute!" He exclaimed quickly, before anyone _else _could get shot.

"Drop your weapon, Commander!" Malcolm warned, eyeing her down the sights of his phase pistol.

And his aim was very steady.

"Okay, Mal…" Trip tried to sooth. "Just wait a minute…"

"You have one opportunity to avoid injury, Lieutenant Reed." T'Pol said, very calmly. "If you relinquish your weapon…"

"I said drop it!" Malcolm ordered.

So T'Pol fired.

After, again, somehow being not quite where she was supposed to be. And now Trip saw that she actually moved, at least, rather than magically disappearing and reappearing like it had sure seemed a minute ago.

She was just pretty damned quick, is all. And kinda had a talent for moving just when you didn't expect her to, which made it hard to follow.

She dodged in _his _direction, though. And Malcolm was pretty damned quick with a phase pistol himself. So his aim was already turning that way when T'Pol shot him.

Turning his way, that is. Which is how Malcolm ended up shooting him.

* * *

><p>Trip found himself sitting on the floor, with his back up against the wall.<p>

It took a second to remember…yeah, that's right. Malcolm shot him. By accident, of course, which he figured wasn't so bad…

T'Pol was on her knees directly in front him. And she had his shirt unzipped and pulled open, one hand caressing his chest…

Which…that was kinda nice, actually.

She had really warm hands. And he could really get into that, but…

"Hey…T'Pol…" He slurred a bit. "What are you…?"

"Assessing you for injury." She said. "The shot diffused and only inflicted momentary unconsciousness. However, you suffered minor physical injury as a result."

Trip frowned and looked down at where she was rubbing all over him.

Yeah, bit of an ugly patch of bruise there.

"Use of your left arm will be difficult and uncomfortable for a while." She said, reaching already to zip his shirt back for him.

Which was real nice of her…though he wouldn't have minded being assessed for injury a little more…

He raised his left arm, testing things out there...

And it _hurt_.

"Ow." He said, intelligently.

T'Pol gave him the eyebrow for that.

"You should avoid aggravating it for now." She admonished.

"Right." Trip said, nodding absently.

Then he remembered again.

"Hey…what happen' to Malcolm?"

"He is unconscious."

"Oh."

Trip blinked slowly.

"'Cause you stunned him, right?"

"Yes."

Shran was standing behind her. Which Trip hadn't noticed until then.

"What's wrong with him?" She frowned. "He's stupider than normal."

Shran was pretty tall, Trip noticed. Andorian weren't usually tall like that. Or…thick. Like with muscles. Usually kinda skinny, actually.

"He is disoriented. It will pass in a moment."

"Oh." Trip said, taking a deep breath. "That's good."

"So let's go before we have to fight the whole ship." Shran said, grumpily.

T'Pol was still on her knees right in front of him, though. So…it was gonna be kinda hard to get up without knocking her over…

Trip shook his head a little, trying to get things rattled back into place in there.

"Little groggy." He said, frowning.

"It will pass in a moment."

"Right." He said.

But T'Pol was giving him a look again. And again he only kinda sorta got it.

"What?"

"Concerning what you said in the Captain's ready room." T'Pol asked. "Were you sincere or were you attempting to manipulate him?"

Trip needed a second to translate, what with his brains being a little scrambled. But he eventually did.

"I guess…I was trying to _convince _him, but…yeah, I meant it. Why?"

T'Pol gave him the eyebrow again. Assessing him now.

For brain injury this time, apparently.

"I find your sanity somewhat suspect." She decided.

Trip grinned wryly.

"Last few years have been kinda rough." He said.

T'Pol's eyebrow twitched.

"I agree with your conclusions in general," She said. "If not necessarily the manner in which you reach them."

"Well, I appreciate that. Thanks."

T'Pol nodded.

"Very well. Remain at rest for a moment, Captain."

She stood up finally, leaving him space to get to his feet again. When he felt like maybe he could do that without falling over.

And she tapped the comm at her belt.

"T'Pol to T'Lea."

"_T'Lea, Commander."_

"Captain Tucker is conscious. We require approximately seven minutes to reach and secure the transporter station. Have you completed your preparations?"

"_Alice confirms passive control of Enterprise's operations and engineering systems. Unfortunately, tactical has proven too difficult to infiltrate. We are otherwise prepared to begin when you are ready."_

"Proceed then. Inform Commander Song so that she may prepare to break dock and depart."

"_Understood, Commander."_

Trip was already struggling to his feet, but he caught most of that anyway. When T'Pol offered her support he was able at last to stand and asked, groggily…

"So, I guess my plan didn't work too good?"

"Unfortunately, no." T'Pol said.

"You should have let the Vulcan do the sneaking and lying." Shran snapped at him. "They're better at it."

"Actually," T'Pol explained, ignoring that. "I believe you may have underestimated this crew. Or perhaps overestimated their regard for you."

"Yeah, I did…shoulda…" Trip slurred. "All that."

"Are you able to walk?"

"No. But that's okay." Trip chuckled. "We're gonna have to run to get there in six minutes."


	23. Chapter 23

**Enterprise  
><strong>**NX-Class (NX-01)**

They ran.

Ran back the way he and T'Pol had come, right over the unconscious bodies of Malcolm Reed and two other security officers. Only one of which Trip recognized and, to his mild shame, could not remember the name of.

They had six minutes or so to get to the transporter station. And they lost thirty seconds of that because he didn't immediately realize T'Pol was leading them back to the lift. Because this was Deck F and the transporter station was on Deck D, so that was the logical thing to do.

Thirty seconds because it took about five to verify through T'Pol that a security alert had indeed been issued during the short moment where, while not technically unconscious, he nonetheless had been aware of nothing at all. Specifically the security alert being issued.

Another ten for Trip to inform them that stepping into the lift would amount to stepping right into a cell in the brig. The ship was already at condition four and with phase weapon fire being automatically detected, prompting the security alert in the first place, they were currently being tracked by whoever was manning the tactical station on the bridge.

And whoever that was would have to be a monumental idiot not to simply lock down the lift the second they stepped into it.

Another five seconds to then remind them he used to work around here. As an engineer. Chief engineer, as a matter of fact.

And ten more to convince them that meant that if they just stopped arguing and do what they were told he could get them all to Deck D…without having to step right into something composed of microfoamed duranium sheeting that wasn't going to let them step out again without being taken into custody first.

Shran had her basic pocket tool set with her, after all. And she wanted to argue that she _could _get them through a stupid sheet of microfoamed duranium.

Hence the argument and hence…ten seconds.

So thirty seconds out of six minutes. Thirty out of three hundred and sixty.

They lost ten more on the short argument between he and T'Pol that immediately followed. She insisting that T'Lea and Alice would be able to override the lockdown. He insisting that would take too much time and result in their stepping off the lift on Deck D to find a billion security officers waiting for them.

Ten more for her to illustrate that he was exaggerating, which was indicative of emotional decision making. And for he to remind everyone that he was the Captain around here and he could do that and we're leaving now.

Then roughly five more seconds to turn around and run back the other way. Into the very corridor they'd been trying to avoid entering in the first place. To reach the door directly across from the brig.

Which made for a rather frustrating additional five seconds as he tried to use the old security passcode he wasn't exactly sure he remembered. And it didn't work since even if he _had _remembered it correctly…it'd been five years. So the code had of course changed.

So…that one was his fault.

All of which cost an additional thirty seconds. For a total of sixty.

Sixty out of three hundred and sixty.

Five more seconds asking…and then ordering…Shran to hand over her tool kit.

Ten more cracking open the security panel and bypassing the lock. Quietly, since there were doing all of this directly adjacent to the brig and the armed security personnel undoubtedly on duty there.

Twenty to enter the antimatter containment storage area, encounter Crewman Second Class Kelly on duty there and attempt to reason with her…until Commander T'Pol determined this was only serving to provoke the Crewman to hysteria. And so shot and stunned her from behind.

Five more seconds for Trip to express his disagreement concerning that.

Forty seconds having passed then, for a total of one hundred. One hundred out of three hundred and sixty.

A full sixty seconds getting them all shimmying down the maintenance tube behind the heavy machinery. And for T'Pol to force open the jammed panel at the end of the forty foot section to the right. Since Hess apparently hadn't gotten around to fixing that after five whole years.

Forty more sliding down the ladder, bypassing Deck E altogether, in order to reach the secure hatch at the end of the short section of maintenance tube there.

Fifty moving through the extremely hot and uncomfortable crawlspace above the deuterium injector assembly on Deck D, just to the starboard of Main Engineering.

Which was a little ironic or something. All things considered.

Two hundred and fifty seconds. Out of three hundred and sixty.

Sixty seconds hacking the access panel, cycling the isolation access port, breaking through the side of the tube and entering the environmental air duct above the adjacent monitoring room.

Ten removing the grating and scaling down into the room itself.

Ten more getting out of the room and down the steps, taking the first door on the right into the corridor beyond…where whoever was manning the tactical station instantly reacquired them.

And immediately announced their location over the ship's intercom system for whoever might be interested in taking the time to go and shoot them.

Three hundred and thirty seconds. Out of three hundred and sixty.

Ten seconds to take the first door on the right, dash down the corridor to the door at the far end, pass through and take another right toward the lift.

Five seconds for T'Pol to produce a flash bang grenade from nowhere and toss it into the lift, since it was filled with security officers. And to warn the others to close their eyes and cover their ears.

Five for Trip to recover enough to know which direction he was facing again, since that only helped so much.

And another five to help Shran, since no one said anything about covering their _antennae_.

Three hundred and fifty seconds.

Out of three hundred and sixty.

Which left them roughly ten seconds to help Shran stumble down the corridor to their immediate left, for T'Pol to ignore Trip's insistent curiosity over how she'd managed to get an explosive device aboard the _Enterprise _and for all of them to simply turn right and step directly into the transporter station where Hess was waiting to point a phase pistol at them.

Plenty of time.

Except for the part about Hess and the phase pistol.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Bridge, Deck A<strong>

Commander Song considered the situation furiously, looking for a way through.

She'd waited at first for Captain Archer…or _someone_…to start making demands of _her_. Asking _her _hard questions.

But by the time the impromptu interrogation in the _Enterprise's _ready room kicked off, it was obvious…everyone seemed to forgotten about them over here. Or at least, forgotten the Sisco comm link was still wide open.

Which of course just left them all being very quiet on this end so they could continue to monitor all of that. Not that there seemed to be anything they could really do about any of it.

She could panic and start demanding over the comm that they put all that aside for a minute and deal with the contamination threatening everyone's lives over here…maybe just serve as a distraction so Trip could try to figure out something himself…but Archer had obviously seen right through their little ruse. So that wouldn't help anything.

And she really didn't want Archer to remember they were sitting over here. Still hard docked. Still attached to the _Enterprise_.

As it was, the argument going on over there was serving very well in putting off his ordering security teams to seize the _Tempest_. Which Song knew very well was exactly what he would do next.

And besides…

Big picture.

The _Enterprise _was currently being delayed in attending to her mission. Getting to Vulcan and holding the line against the imminent Romulan invasion in that sector. One of dozens of ships, among dozens more from the various Coalition forces.

_Tempest_, on the other hand, was being delayed attending to _her _mission. Scouting and very possibly doing a great deal of damage to what was probably the Romulan main fleet. All by herself.

So…making that a simple numbers game…if someone had to be delayed here…

When she heard Archer give the order and the shuffling sound of security officers over there moving to take her Captain into custody…well, that was that.

Song tapped at her comm, isolating _her _half of the open link at least. So she could talk without interrupting things in the ready room. Since she was about to reverse the situation and make _Trip _the distraction.

"Richard." She said, grimly. "What's the status on security?"

Benning understandably needed a second to figure out she really was asking what she was asking. Because that didn't seem to have anything to do with anything.

"We've got…three men." He said. "Five if you count the Vulcans. Seven with Jennings and Tanner."

Jennings and Tanner were science officers. _Cross-trained _with security.

"That's…gonna have to do." Song said, reluctantly. "Assemble a boarding team, right now. At the airlock."

Benning needed another couple of seconds with that one.

"Commander…"

"Yes, we are. You're going with them. Call Downing and get him back up here to man Engineering."

Benning did _not _like that idea. But…

"Yes, ma'am."

"And call Jenson. I'll take your station and he'll hold the chair."

"Keyla…Jenson's a _steward!"_

"He can push a button. _Go_, Richard."

Benning hesitated again anyway. For a very short moment. But he started moving…

"_Excuse me, Commander. That may not be necessary."_

Song almost glanced around to see where that had come from. And even then she almost didn't realize at first that wasn't Alice. That was Subaltern T'Lea, on the Sisco comm.

"Subaltern, we're a little busy here. This had better be important."

"_Alice and I are currently in the process of infiltrating a number of systems aboard the Enterprise. As I was attempting to seize control of the Tempest myself, Alice became aware of that in the process of doing the same. Through her I have been able to monitor the situation aboard the Enterprise and have taken it upon myself to initiate…"_

"Okay, stop." Song said.

Closing her eyes tight for a minute. Because that was almost too much information…

She let that little part of her mind that loved to deal with situations like this go wild. And it quickly processed and dismissed everything it didn't think was really all that important…

"What systems?" She asked.

"_We have control of operations and are making significant headway with engineering. Tactical has proven more challenging but I am confident science will not, if you feel you require it. I would not recommend an attempt to infiltrate communications, as Ensign Sato can be expected to detect such an attempt…"_

"Stop."

Song wracked her brain a bit.

Trying to figure exactly the most beneficial next step here. Because they were and would be the serious underdog in any conflict with the _Enterprise_. One on one, boarding actions, you name it. Yes, even computer infiltration.

So whatever they were going to do, they'd have to do it fast. Before the _Enterprise _could get its act together and kick their butts about it.

"The Sisco system has a vibration alert feature." Song said. "One that can be used to communicate in morse code. Are you familiar with morse code and does Vulcan Intelligence have anything similar?"

"_I am and we do."_

"If she needed to, could T'Pol get free of that security escort? Get her _and _Trip free. And get Shran. And get them all to the transporter station."

"_Indeed."_

T'Lea had…answered that a little too quickly. So Song really, really wanted to say something like, 'Are you sure?'

But she didn't do that. Quick, fast and in a hurry here.

"Tell her to do that."

"_According to my intelligence, Lieutenant Shran is currently being escorted to the brig. I estimate both groups will arrive at approximately the same time."_

"That's perfect. Make it happen."

* * *

><p>T'Pol had her phase pistol at the ready, staring right down the sights at Hess.<p>

As did Shran, who'd been smart enough to snatch one up herself from the dozen or so security officers they'd bowled right over getting here.

Trip hadn't been that smart. So he kinda had to use very casual, very non-threatening hand gestures.

"Hess…just hold on a minute…" He said. With very casual and non-threatening hand gestures.

And lots of sugar on top.

"Tell your people to drop their weapons, Trip." Hess said.

Staring right down the sights of her own phase pistol. At him.

And she looked pretty damned serious.

"There's three of us, Hess." Trip said, very calmly. "You can't shoot us all."

"I can shoot _you_."

"…and then one of my people is gonna shoot _you_, Hess." He pointed out. "So, please. Let's just talk this out."

"No." She said. "You drop your weapons. Right now, Trip. Or I _will _shoot you."

"And then we'll all just get on the transporter anyway."

"Not without the abort control circuit."

So…well, of course. She wasn't stupid. And she _was _an engineer.

"I…can get around that."

"That's why I'll shoot you _first_, if your people don't drop their weapons."

"Hess…" Trip said, suspecting he might be pointing out the obvious that she'd missed here. "Talla's my Chief Engineer."

Hess suddenly paused.

So, yeah, she'd overlooked that point.

But she was smart. And capable. And adapted well to changes in circumstance.

Another reason he'd always really liked her.

"Trip," She said. "Please. Just _think _about what you're doing."

"I know what I'm doing, Hess."

"You can't go _through _with it, Trip!"

Really?

And, _really?_

Hess, too, for crying out loud?

Trip had to close his eyes at that for a second. Probably not the smart thing to do when someone's got a phase pistol pointed at you but…that needed a second.

"Jesus, Hess." He said, sighing harshly. "Are you kidding me? I know what you've been told…and what you've heard…but I've got a Vulcan and an Andorian standing right here beside me. Are you really buying into this whole, 'Trip is a crazy xenophobic terrorist' thing?"

"So what the hell are you _doing_, Trip?!"

"The Romulan main fleet is coming right through here, Hess." Trip said. Still calm. Relatively speaking. Still trying to reason with people here. "I'm trying to do something about that."

"The main fleet is heading for _Vulcan_." Hess argued. "Where _we_ should be right now. Not here. Not doing _this_."

He opened his mouth to argue back. Even if all they seemed to be doing was wasting time. Giving security around here the opportunity to come barreling in here, in fact. Which was surely a big part of what Hess was doing.

Holding them up. Delaying them.

"Hess, look…"

"_Trip?"_

Trip startled a bit.

Who the hell was that? And where had that come from?

"_Trip, can you hear me?"_

That…Hoshi?

Crap, the comm. How the hell had she…?

"Hoshi?"

"_Trip, what are you doing? You shot Malcolm? What's going on?"_

* * *

><p>Commander Song was just about at the point where she was going to start fidgeting.<p>

Or maybe issue some random, unproductive order just for the sake of issuing an order.

Because she needed to _do _something…!

"_T'Lea to Song."_

She jabbed at her comm. Maybe a little too hard.

"Song, go ahead."

"_Alice and I are prepared. We can begin on your…"_

"Do it."

"_Very well. Initiating operations override. I estimate all possible control in approximately four minutes."_

She turned her attention back to bridge center. Where the three dimensional holographic tactical display showed the _Tempest _and the _Enterprise _still docked. _Tempest _facing one way, the _Enterprise _the other. Connected by nothing but a short, thin airlock tube that wasn't going to be in very good shape in a couple of seconds.

So, okay then. Let's do this.

"Systems silent, activate Echo." She ordered. "Go combat, hull and weapons."

"Systems silent." Downing acknowledged, from the Engineering station.

"Echo cycling…system active." Benning reported.

"_All hands, combat stations. This is not a drill."_

"Brace for impact." Song ordered.

_"All hands, brace for impact."_

"Up Z-axis, current plane, .5 impulse."

The _Tempest _rose, moving forward. Snapping that short, thin tube off instantly. And she kept moving forward until she was above and to one side of the _Enterprise's _port nacelle.

"Target their weapons, prepare to fire."

* * *

><p>"Hoshi, I've kinda got a situation here…"<p>

"_You've got to give yourself up, Trip. This is crazy."_

"I know what this looks like, Hoshi…"

"_Trip, this isn't you. I don't know what's going on, but this isn't you. We can help you. Just…please…stop what you're doing."_

Trip…

Got a little angry then.

In fact, he got a whole hell of a lot angry.

"Are you on the bridge, Hoshi?" He snapped. "Can everyone hear this?"

"_We…yes. Trip, we just want to help…!"_

"Okay, good. Now all of you listen to me. I've had enough of this crap."

"_Trip…"_

"No. You _listen_." Trip said, firmly. "I'm not going to explain what I'm doing. None of you would believe me and I can't say I give a damn right now. But none of you are going to stop me. Whatever you think you know or whatever you're afraid of…God damn it, you know me. You all know me. So I shouldn't _have _to explain. And I sure as hell shouldn't have to be doing _this_."

He stared at Hess then.

Stared hard.

"Now any of you who remember who I am…you're going to hear what I say next. I'm not a terrorist. And I'm not crazy. I'm not even a Starfleet officer. I'm just Trip. _That's _who I am. So you just go ahead and decide what you're gonna do here. 'Cause I'm leaving."

He waited. Staring at Hess.

Because if anyone…if _anyone_…understood…

Hess sighed a little, still staring back at him.

And shook her slightly, denying…

"Damn it, Trip." She breathed.

"Hess." He said, hands out from his sides a little.

Open. Opened right up to her. Because...

"It's just me."

Hess stared.

Down the sights of the phase pistol she had aimed at him.

And she struggled with that.

* * *

><p>Archer struggled a little himself.<p>

Because, damn it, that was _Trip _down there.

Whatever the hell was going on around here…the fact was…that _was _Trip.

Hoshi was watching him, he saw.

Everyone on the bridge was watching, in fact. Because they didn't know what to do here. And they knew they really didn't _have _to know. That was _his _job.

So he struggled…

"Uh…sir?" Someone said. Hanson, on Tactical. "Something's…I'm getting conflicting readings on the _Tempest_."

Archer almost sighed. And damn it, he still had this _other _thing to try to figure out here.

"They sabotaged our sensors, Hanson…"

"No, sir. Something else." Hanson insisted. "They're all over the place. Still to port, but…radiometrics, magnetics, thermals…I'm not reading _anything _where it's supposed to be…can't get a fix…"

Archer almost stared.

They what? That didn't sound like Project Mayhem. He was pretty sure the Mayhem system couldn't _do _that…

No, that was…what was it called, Echo? Which meant the _Tempest _was trying to avoid weapons lock…

The _Enterprise_…trembled.

"What the hell was _that?" _Archer demanded.

"Sir, we lost the docking tube! I think…the _Tempest _sheared off…"

"You can still _see _them, can't you?"

"Sir? Sensors are…"

"Visual, Ensign!"

"Uh…yes, sir. I have them. Sir…up forty degrees…they're moving aft, not very fast."

That…didn't make any sense. Where did they think they were going? Their Captain and Chief Engineer were still on the _Enterprise_…and almost their entire crew, for that matter...

But they were moving aft. Not on departure…moving _aft_…

They couldn't possibly be _serious!_

"Polarize hull plating!" Archer barked. "Ahead, full impulse. Charge weapons…!"

The _Enterprise _shook again.

No little tremble this time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Enterprise  
><strong>**NX-Class (NX-01)**

Hess still had that phase pistol pointed at him. So he waited and hoped.

And she was still wrestling with whatever she was wrestling with.

Trip was pretty sure he knew what…but he couldn't help but think of Crewman Second Class Kelly and how T'Pol had shot her in the back the second she figured it was the logical thing to do…

Another second or two and things were probably going to get real logical around here, too.

Then Hess suddenly wasn't pointing the phase pistol at him anymore. And Trip was a little surprised at how much that surprised him.

She kinda sighed and her shoulders slumped a bit. And she frowned at him.

And she let the pistol slip forward and flip around, so that she had the butt of it pointed at him instead.

He didn't let himself hesitate. He stepped over there and accepted the weapon she was handing him. Keeping eye contact and making sure she knew he understood what she'd done.

Not only leaving herself defenseless and arming him in the process…but much more than that. She'd remembered him and trusted him.

There weren't too many of his old friends around anymore that were willing to do that. To date, in fact, exactly one.

"Thanks, Hess." He said, softly. As he took the pistol away from her.

He had to look away for a second though, and he really regretted that. But it was a pretty powerful moment for him and so she was free to look away herself.

And in fact…he tapped the comm at his belt. Because to heck with the rest of them then.

She stared down at the floor. And he could only pray that wasn't hopelessness and shame that she was feeling.

"I'm going to be court-martialed for this." She said, quietly.

And yes, Trip could sense a little bit of hopelessness in there.

"Yeah, probably." Trip said, lowly. Speaking only to her now. "I'm sorry about that. But maybe when it's all over…maybe not. I don't know."

She sighed a little. "It's fine, Trip. Just…whatever you're doing…"

"I'm doing the right thing, Hess." He assured. "I promise you that. Heck, I'd invite you along but it's pretty much a suicide mission."

"I'm coming with you." She said, nodding a little.

As if he'd just asked her to.

She was still looking at the floor. But at least her voice was firm and strong again.

But…no…

"It's a _suicide _mission." Trip said. Since she clearly had missed that part.

"I don't care. I'm coming with you."

"Hess…"

Shran jumped in then. "I could use another engineer. I'm a little short of them."

Trip shook his head. "No, Talla. I'm already..."

"Well, I've got the abort control circuit." Hess said. "So, unless you've got another one in your pocket or time enough to rig something…"

And she wasn't looking sadly at the floor anymore. She was looking up at him again, with her shoulders squared and everything.

So…well, crap.

"Hess, you'll _definitely _be court-martialed." He argued, trying again.

"I thought you said it was a suicide mission."

Trip…tried to figure out how to explain all the intricacies here. Suicide mission, sure. But he still kinda hoped they could get out of the suicide part. And…all the other stuff about how she shouldn't do this…

"And they're not going to court-martial me for being kidnapped."

That actually shocked him.

"Wha…we're not _kidnapping _you, Hess." Trip denied.

"Yes, we are." Shran said, casually.

"No," Trip insisted. "We're not."

"Yes, you are." Hess insisted.

"So she won't get court-martialed." Shran explained, since he was being stupid.

And she looked at Hess. "It really is a suicide mission, though." She said, shrugging apologetically.

Trip spent a quick second looking around at how everyone had gone crazy. Then returned to his original argument with Hess, since that's where they'd all wandered off track.

But she was already squatting down over there behind the transporter console to replace the circuit.

He opened his mouth.

The _Enterprise _trembled.

And all three engineers in the immediate area shared a look.

"If I'm not mistaken," Hess said. "That was the external airlock. So the transporter's the only way you're getting back to your ship."

So, yeah. She was good at adapting to changes in circumstance.

"Hess, don't be stupid." Trip frowned.

"Whatever you're doing, I want in on it." She said, standing and brushing her hands together. Her work done, apparently. "If it's something I can get behind and it's as important as you say it is, then I can help. And if it's not then I'll be around to stop you."

Trip's brow furrowed. Stuck between wanting to accept the excuses she was offering him so he'd _have _an excuse to bring her along…and still on the other hand really not wanting her to come along.

Because…the suicide part.

"Captain, we have little time." T'Pol advised.

Funny how relieved he suddenly was that T'Pol had offered her input. He hadn't realized he was waiting for it. Even if that hadn't helped anything at all…

The _Enterprise _shook. Pretty hard.

Hess closed her eyes and groaned slightly. "And that was the aft targeting array, Trip. So…no, we don't have a lot of time."

"You're being stupid, Captain." Shran groused.

And she raised her phase pistol to point at Hess again.

"You. Get on the transporter pad."

"_Talla_…" Trip growled, warning. With a nice little glare to go along with it.

"I'm kidnapping her." Shran explained.

Trip drew a deep breath. Which he figured would allow enough time for whatever decision he was going to make here to make itself.

It didn't.

And Hess was already stepping onto the transporter pad anyway. Waiting for everyone else to stop screwing around and get over there, too.

"It is her life and her choice." T'Pol said. "Just as you recently argued yourself."

So there it was.

And, yeah.

"Fine." He said. "Let's go."

He tossed in a harsh gesture at the transporter pad though, so everyone would know he wasn't happy about this. Even if he was, a little.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Bridge, Deck A<strong>

Benning wasn't exactly sure how to feel about firing on another Starfleet vessel.

Except that had been a pretty damned good shot. Never mind that the _Enterprise _hadn't had the opportunity to take evasive maneuvers, hadn't polarized their hull and was sitting there defenseless at point blank range…taking out the aft targeting sensor array, where it sat low, wedged right under there between the nacelles, while the _Tempest _herself was coming around on a curve from forty degrees up angle…

Yeah, screw you, that was a damned good shot.

"Contact, aft targeting array." He reported. "No hull breach."

And, yeah, there was that, too. A _precise _damned good shot.

"Their aft targeting's disabled." Eckerd reported, over at science.

_Enterprise _still didn't move.

"_We have locked out their bridge Helm controls." _T'Lea reported, over the comm.

Which would be why they hadn't moved.

"_Accessing their warp plasma containment system now."_

"Come about, hard to port." Song ordered. "Full stop, orient on the _Enterprise_."

_Tempest _now sat above and behind the _Enterprise_. Up at roughly forty degrees and just far enough out that they were only technically clear of the ship.

But still practically sitting right between the nacelles.

"_Initiating secondary distractions." _T'Lea announced.

Meaning grav plating was about to go offline across half the ship over there. With a few choice sections increasing by a factor of four or so instead, just for good measure. Lights flickering on and off, intercom systems blaring either static or random automated messages. Environmentals fluctuating, with variations of temperature and air pressure just extreme enough to be uncomfortable.

And the airlocks screaming that they'd been overridden and evacuated, when in fact they had not.

A few automated reports warning that certain sections had just blown out detachable emergency hull plates as well, when they hadn't done anything of the sort either.

Warp plasma containment now reporting pressure at critical levels.

Which was _almost _true…

And exactly what those distractions were intended to distract from. So that it would seem the rapid increase in plasma pressure was just another random attack on their systems, rather than the critical point of the whole plan.

"_The Enterprise is attempting to infiltrate our operations system through the secure Sisco link." _T'Lea reported. _"Alice is unable to close the link without Captain Tucker's approval."_

Even Song jerked and looked toward Crenshaw, who barely spared enough attention from his frantic work at the comm station fighting that to simply nod and confirm it.

Damn, Benning thought. Sato really _was _every bit the master comm officer that legend made her out to be. Under fire for, what, eight seconds? And she was already hacking _Tempest's _ops through an otherwise secure comm link. A comm system she hadn't the vaguest familiarity with in the first place.

"Target's hull polarized." Eckerd announced.

Benning still had both eyes on his own station, so he saw…

"They're charging weapons." He reported. "Trying to lock on with both outward targeting arrays…Echo's still throwing them off, though."

"Scratch the paint a bit, Benning."

Benning fired, sending a trio of angry red phase cannons shots, one after another, across the _Enterprise's _rear saucer section.

Accomplishing largely what they were intended to accomplish. Nothing much at all.

"Target's hull at 82%, minor structural damage. No breach." Eckerd confirmed.

Just as two crimson beams of light slashed out from the _Enterprise _in retaliation, washing over the _Tempest_. Seeking something, anything it might cause some pain. But they couldn't quite confirm exactly where _Tempest _was. Not precisely enough to lock on and not even enough to make firing _without _a lock all that easy.

Their sensors sabotaged, the Echo system offering conflicting passive sensor readings on top of that and forced to rely on targeting arrays sitting at exactly the wrong angle. The _Tempest _was behind them somewhere, up angle to one degree or the other. Close, but not sure _how _close…

Hell, Benning thought, they were probably shooting off _visual _sensors over there…

"Our shields at 72%," Eckerd reported. "No impact."

But the hit had scored. So now _Enterprise _had a good idea where they were, having actually made contact…not enough to lock on but enough to hit with some real precision next time…

"Drift up Z-axis, back .2 impulse." Song ordered.

And _Tempest _began drifting…ever so casually…up and back…

"Target those phase cannons." Song snapped.

Benning objected, even as he did precisely that.

"They might need those guns, Commander…"

"We need to not get shot to pieces or let them tag us again. Take them out."

Benning fired again…

"Impact, both cannons." He reported.

"Target hull at 70%," Eckerd reported. "No breach. Port rear cannon destroyed, starboard rear disabled."

Well, Benning thought, they've got nearly a dozen others. They'll just have to make do with those.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise's <em>sensor trouble impacted every system of theirs that relied on sensors. Including the transporter.

And that was why Ensign Sabrina Judge waited in the cargo bay of the _Tempest_, with her Sisco comm active.

Judge, who was Communications second in command and thus the only one the recently promoted Lieutenant Junior Grade Crenshaw had approached with the offer to put her name on the 'dumbass' list. And since she had, perhaps unwisely, chosen to do so, this job had been given to her.

She waited, with her comm open so that Lieutenant Shran could pinpoint her location through that signal. It being the only outbound signal of any kind emanating from the _Tempest _that either wasn't actively suppressed under signal silent condition or twisted completely out of whack by the Echo system.

That still didn't get around the _Enterprise's _sabotaged sensor system, of course. So Shran had been forced to use it as a rough guide in determining where to transport them all. And that meant erring on the side of caution, so as to ensure no one found themselves appearing inside a wall or stuck halfway between decks.

The whine rose and peaked. The blue glare flared and faded quickly away. And the four of them appeared about three meters away from where Sabrina Judge stood.

And about a meter above the deck.

Just high enough that none of them had much of a chance of keeping their feet.

Sabrina winced a bit and took a step back as the four of them fell and tumbled a bit. But no one seemed to be hurt, so that was good.

Shran was on her feet first, reaching quickly to help Trip up while Hess and T'Pol were left to help themselves.

All of the scrambling, tumbling and assorted elbowing going on didn't cause Judge to miss the fact that there were four of them instead of three. And that one of them wore a Starfleet duty uniform with a service patch that was _not _a _Tempest _service patch.

She had her phase pistol drawn and leveled before Shran was on her feet.

Trip accepted Shran's help up, since the whole thing had aggravated the bruising on his chest and shoulder. Against clear instructions by the nice Vulcan with the really warm hands.

But he didn't stand up straight. He stayed bent over a bit, with his hands on his knees while everyone else got up again.

And he grinned. And he chuckled. And he even laughed out loud a bit for a moment. Despite the ache from the aforementioned aggravation.

Until the looks everyone was giving him forced him to explain his behavior.

"I forgot." He explained, chuckling. "That was pretty exciting. I forgot how much I missed that kinda thing."

T'Pol just watched, with no particular expression or apparent opinion on that. Shran frowned, like he was being stupid again, though. And Hess was looking at him kinda like he was being crazy again.

Trip shrugged, standing up straight now. Still grinning a little.

So, yeah. Whatever. Let 'em look at him funny. Other than that fight with the Bird of Prey back at the belt, he'd spent most of the last few years behind a desk. Most days, anyway.

Hell, he had to hit the gym for a while just to get back in shape once he suddenly got the command of the _Tempest _he'd been pushing for…because he never really expected he'd get it.

Really. Damn. He _missed _this stuff.

Ensign Judge was pointing a phase pistol at them though…

Which maybe qualified, but didn't seem like something he should be happy about.

"Ensign." He said, more seriously now. Both as an acknowledgment and a question.

"Sir?" Judge asked. And she looked pretty uncertain herself…

Oh, right…it was _Hess _she was pointing that pistol at. So, yeah. That was the question, then.

Trip grinned again. "It's fine, Ensign. This is Commander Hess. She's…our prisoner, I guess."

"We kidnapped her." Shran supplied, helpfully.

Which Trip thought was pretty funny. So he chuckled again.

"Actually, that is not entirely correct." T'Pol explained. "Commander Hess volunteered to join…"

"No, we kidnapped her." Trip said, seriously. "She's my prisoner. In fact, see if you can dress her up in something skimpy. Deliver her to my quarters as soon as possible."

Hess frowned at that.

"Okay, seriously Trip?" She said. Frowning.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to be kidnapped." Trip pointed out.

Of course, Commander Hess was pretty good at adapting to changes in circumstance.

So she shrugged. And smirked a little.

"Fine with me." She said. "I'll meet you there. And I'll be running this ship by this time tomorrow."

"Oh." Trip said, grinning again. "Is that a challenge, prisoner?"

Sabrina was frowning now. Looking back and forth between the two of them. And at the other two as well, waiting for one of them to do something about all this.

Shran was smirking. And the Vulcan at least looked a little disapproving…

But since no one seemed in a big hurry to actually step in, Judge took it upon herself to get everyone back on track here. Because this was serious business.

"Sir," She said. "Commander Song's on the bridge. We're already engaged with the _Enterprise.._."

"Relax, Sabrina." Trip said. "With what T'Pol did to their sensors, the _Enterprise _couldn't hit the broad side of a barn right now…"

The _Tempest _shook.

"…okay, scratch that." Trip said, suddenly serious again. "Shran, get to engineering. Scrounge up a team for Hess while you're at it. Hess, you're on damage control. T'Pol, you're with me."

He was already heading for the door. Practically racing Shran to get there, as she had already been moving in that direction when he issued the order.

"Sir," Judge asked, trying to catch up now. "You want me to escort Hess and her team…?"

"No, you're on patrol." He said, as they reached the door. "If we can transport over here, you can bet they can, too. I don't want a boarding party popping up somewhere without someone there to greet them."

In the corridor Shran was already ten meters down the corridor and on the move. And Judge was dashing off herself to find security officers…and anyone else she could…to secure the ship.

"Hess." He said, since she was still there. "Sorry, it's a hell of welcome aboard but you'd better catch up with Shran. Our layout's a little different than the _Enterprise_…"

"It's fine." She nodded, already on the move herself. "I'll catch up with you later."

She was gone.

And T'Pol was already going for the bridge, glancing back to encourage _him _to catch up.

They started jogging when he did. Then running the last dozen meters to the lift when the second round of much _harder _impacts shook the ship.

On the lift, as he waited impatiently to reach Deck A, now fully aware of how serious the situation was and how he needed to get _up there_, T'Pol surprised him.

"Was it wise not to allow Ensign Judge to escort the damage control team?" She asked.

"I need point control." Trip said. "And I'm not worried about Hess."

"She represents a serious security risk…"

"She trusted me, T'Pol. So I'll trust her."

T'Pol didn't say anything else to that. She understood the situation well enough to recognize Trip's decision as the emotional decision it was.

So she did what was logical to do. She resolved to handle that herself.

* * *

><p>"Situation, Helm?" Song demanded.<p>

"Up angle 53 degrees, out 225 meters." Steel reported, from the Helm.

"Hold and report at 60 degrees, out 300." Song ordered. "Ready weapons, Benning."

_Enterprise _did nothing for a full two seconds more. While _Tempest _drifted up…just slowly enough that their tactical officer wouldn't detect the drift…

As far as they knew, the _Tempest _was still sitting between the nacelles. Right where they'd last hit them. Ready to fire on the _Enterprise _again at any moment.

On the three dimensional tactical display floating in the middle of the _Tempest's _bridge…something vaguely greenish began to flow from the _Enterprise's _nacelles.

"They're venting plasma." Eckerd reported.

Satisfied, because that meant the _Enterprise _had fallen for it. And the whole plan hinged on that.

"Situation, Helm?"

"60 degrees, out 285...now 300."

Eckerd anticipated the demand before it was made.

"Plasma density approaching 50% of mark." He said.

_Enterprise _fired again, one phase cannon from each extreme edge of the rear saucer section now. Just outside the thin wisp of plasma forming up between her nacelles. The only two cannons able to fire at that angle, since the _Enterprise _had been robbed of the ability to maneuver any others into play.

Cannon fire at where they believed the _Tempest _to be.

Right at the spot where the _Tempest _was _supposed _to be…hitting nothing, because she wasn't there anymore. And their visuals now showing not only that but how far off target they'd been.

And now the moment of truth.

Would they assume their visual targeting was simply off, firing under the fairly terrible conditions they were? Or would they realize the _Tempest _had moved as much as she had?

"Plasma density, 75%."

Density would reach the mark in little more than three seconds. Then Benning would do the _Enterprise _a favor and light that plasma cloud up for them. But _Tempest _wouldn't be sitting there to take the hit when the plasma ignited. She'd be far enough back that she'd barely feel a thing.

The _Enterprise_, on the other hand, would take every bit of damage to their nacelles that they had already resigned themselves to, in their attempt to take out that little frigate that was sitting on their butt firing on them.

That was the plan. Give them every reason to take advantage of what they thought was a dangerously high amount of pressure in the plasma containment system. Venting plasma in order to ignite it and blow the hell out of the _Tempest_, even if that meant taking damage to their own nacelles.

But since that's not what was going to happen, the _Enterprise _would have a hell of a hard time doing anything about their simply turning around and warping away when their wayward officers transported back aboard.

"Plasma density, 90%."

Benning already has his targets locked. Phase cannons hot and ready to fire.

He had his thumb on the holographic button on his console, waiting for that 100%…

…when the _Enterprise's _secondary impulse rockets suddenly flared. And she _moved_.

"Density 95%."

Forward. Away from the _Tempest_…

…those rockets doing Benning a favor and igniting that plasma cloud for him.

The resulting explosion hitting the _Enterprise's _nacelles almost immediately, doing only a little less damage than Downing had determined it would, since they were on the move. But enough nevertheless that the _Enterprise _still wouldn't be warp-capable for a few hours.

But the explosion served to help propel them forward as well, even as it blasted their nacelles…propelling them forward with just enough force to make up for the fact that they were running entirely on secondary thrusters, Benning realized.

With no little amount of awe. Because then he knew. They'd fired secondary rockets manually to get around T'Lea's locking out bridge Helm controls. They had men down there actually _manually firing the rockets._

And doing a fine job of it.

Because _Enterprise _was turning hard to port as she moved.

"Hard to starboard, full impulse!" Song ordered. "Disengage!"

Benning saw the two blue sparks flash out from the rear torpedo bays, just exactly before the _Enterprise _turned too far to fire on them from there…

"Incoming torpedoes!"

…just a second and a half before the forward torpedo bays would come into play, at their current rate of turn.

Four crimson beams leaping out at them from nowhere, behind those two torpedoes, in order to soften up the _Tempest's _shields for them…

…and two more torpedoes sparking out from the forward bay now, as the _Enterprise _turned fully about to come in after them.

So.

Crap.

Reed had apparently taken the damned Tactical station on the bridge after all.

They'd counted on him not doing that. Because he was supposed to still be recovering from being stunned in the corridor just a few minutes ago.


	25. Chapter 25

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Bridge, Deck A<strong>

The _Tempest _leapt.

Leapt away from the terrible NX-class flagship snarling around to grab them and rip them to bloody pieces.

Because they'd been dumb enough to scratch the paint job.

The cannon fire announcing the _Enterprise's _intentions to do that now striking, just as the _Tempest _turned and her impulse thrusters kicked in. Lancing all across the length of her, as she'd just presented them the most open profile to incoming attack that a starship could.

At point blank range.

The _Tempest _shook. And she shook hard.

"Impact." Benning announced, teeth gritted. "Shields 52%, Hull 88%. Targeting degraded."

"Sensor systems damaged." Eckerd reported. "I'm on it."

And those two brilliant blue torpedoes coming right behind to take advantage of their weakened shield status…

…missed.

They missed pretty impressively, in fact.

"Incoming torpedoes!" Eckerd reported, immediately.

So, of course, here come two more. And though it was otherwise absolutely impossible for the _Enterprise _to have adjusted fire that quickly…Reed was on Tactical over there…

And he had a bit of a reputation.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Song ordered. "Continue departure, disengage!"

The bridge main door cycled open. And Song turned sharply, hand slapping to the phase pistol on her belt.

Because, yes, she really did expect to find Archer had somehow transported a security team aboard in the middle of all this madness…

It was Trip. And the Vulcan.

And that was a relief in more ways than one.

"Ship status!" Trip snapped, dodging through the door before they were even fully open.

Song didn't waste time sighing in relief.

"We're on departure, full impulse." She said. "_Enterprise _coming around to pursue."

"Shields 52%, Hull 88%." Benning reported, not taking his eyes off his console. "Incoming torpedoes…ranged off. No impact."

"Our sensors took a hit, sir. Down 20%." Eckerd said.

"Sato's still hacking us." Crewshaw announced. "She's got our warp engines offline and she's trying to hack Alice."

Trip ignored that for now.

Even if that _was _pretty startling.

"Target report!"

"They're on manual secondary thrusters." Song said. "Alice and T'Lea have still got most of their ops and engineering under control. Damage to their warp nacelles, no warp capability. Echo's up and they can't lock on."

"Target hull at 60%, rear cannons disabled." Benning said.

The _Enterprise _fired again. And Trip saw, on the tactical display hovering in the middle of the bridge…

Somehow they _shimmied _in the process of pursuing on nothing but secondary thrusters…operated _manually_, by whoever they had down there at the thrusters _doing that_…

Shimmying in order to bring _six _cannons into play.

Damn, Trip thought. Should have kidnapped Malcolm instead…

Or maybe Travis…

The _Tempest _shook. Again.

"Multiple hits port side. Shields 32%, no penetration."

"We're full departure, full impulse." Steel reported. "Disengaging."

Oh, yes. Because it was definitely time to get the hell out of Dodge…

But that meant shutting Hoshi out so they could go to warp.

Trip reached for his comm…

"Captain!" Song exclaimed. "If you cut the link Alice'll go offline and we lose our hack on the _Enterprise_."

Well, crap then!

"How the hell is Hoshi hacking our ops, anyway?" Trip demanded.

"I'm afraid we gave her the idea." Song frowned. "And you gave Alice conflicting orders. She's maintaining that secure link and ops control, like you said."

Trip cursed. Quietly, under his breath.

Hoshi was hacking his ship through Sisco?!

Are you kidding me?!

"Continue evasive." He said, begrudgingly. "Get us the clear of them, Steel."

Trip tapped the comm.

"Alice." He said. "Priority override."

"_Hello, Trip. We are currently engaged in combat with the Enterprise. Would you like a detailed systems report?"_

"No, Alice. Maintain systems control of both _Tempest _and _Enterprise _and kill the secure comm link between myself and the bridge."

"_Secure link closed. Maintaining control of Tempest operations as well as partial control of Enterprise operations and engineering. I'm sorry, Trip, but I have exceeded optimal processing capacity. My current tasking will result in degraded performance at an estimated cumulative rate of fifteen to twenty percent…"_

Trip stopped listening. Alice had overextended herself…again…so she'd have to go offline soon.

Real soon.

Which meant…there wasn't much they could do here. _Enterprise _would have full control in just a few seconds, since they'd killed the link. Because Hoshi wouldn't be busy trying to hack the _Tempest _anymore, she'd be correcting everything Alice and T'Lea had done to their systems instead.

Which…yeah, that'd take her about five seconds. And maybe a couple more to undo what T'Pol had done to their sensors.

Then _Enterprise _would have full maneuverability and full sensor capability. And Echo system aside, they'd start beating the _Tempest _to bits. Maybe they couldn't lock on to her but that wouldn't stop Reed from hitting with every other shot anyway…

"Situation?" Trip said.

"Extended range. 106,000 kilometers, increasing." Steel reported.

Benning was still waiting, though. Waiting for the order to return fire.

"Orders, sir?"

Trip grimaced. "Lock on. But _hold fire_, Benning."

It was less than three seconds.

"_Enterprise _increasing speed! They're up and running." Eckerd reported. "Closing fast, now 80,000 kay."

Damn, that was quick…

"Sir, they're coming up pretty fast." Steel said. "Closing 45,000 kay."

Wait, _what? _How they were they moving _that _fast…?

Unless they were bleeding plasma right into the…

Oh.

Oh, hell.

"Hard to port, evasive!" Trip snapped.

The _Tempest _banked hard.

Just as the _Enterprise _flew by behind them, out less than 10,000 kilometers, tossing everything she had their way as she passed…

Three crimson beams lancing out. All three striking true.

Then something _screamed _somewhere…

…and the engineering console exploded, sending Downing spinning out of his chair like he'd suddenly decided to take up ballet.

"Incoming torpedoes!"

"Song, check Downing!" Trip yelled, sparing nothing beyond that but a vague gesture in that direction.

Eyes focused on the tactical display while Song rushed to tend to the engineer.

Because, damn that was intimidating. They only just got control back and danged if Archer hadn't pulled a 'fast attack' on him, while the _Tempest _was at full impulse…

The _Tempest _shook.

Those torpedoes hadn't ranged off at all this time. At least one had struck.

"Shields 5%!" Benning exclaimed. "Hull 30%. Breach, deck C rear."

Oh, God. The cargo bay.

Please, God. Don't let us lose the cargo bay…

"Life support's offline!" Eckerd reported.

"Alice, priority override!" Trip ordered, slapping at his comm. "Secure our engineering systems, maintain life support."

"_Securing systems. Attempting life support corrections. I'm sorry, Trip, but I am currently exceeding processing capacity and my performance is very unsatisfactory."_

"_Enterprise _out 20,000 kay, down 45 degrees." Eckerd reported. "Matching speed with…"

"They're locked on, Captain!" Benning yelled.

Wha…?!

_How the hell were they locked on…?!_

"_Enterprise _matching speed, down 45 degrees, off port rear."

Trip hesitated.

He hated it and it was the absolute worse thing to do at the moment.

You never, ever hesitate in battle. You did something, anything, always. No matter what.

But…

They were hurt. Badly.

No structural damage worth mentioning, other than the breach in the cargo bay, but their current defenses barely qualified as such.

The _Enterprise _had them cold.

It was as simple as that.

"Echo system offline." He ordered. "Full stop. Stand down combat."

Everyone else hesitated now.

"…sir?" Benning asked.

"You heard me." He said, firmly. "Stand down. Full stop. Kill the Echo."

Trip tapped his comm.

"Alice, priority override. Reconfigure coils for warp, top priority."

"_Reconfiguring coils for warp, Trip. I'm sorry, my current performance is extremely unsatisfactory. I predict a general systems crash at any moment. Would you like me to relinquish control of engineering systems to Lieutenant Shran prior to general systems crash?"_

Trip closed his eyes.

And sighed.

"No, Alice." He said, reluctantly. "Go ahead and relinquish control of all systems, then offline."

"_Understood, Trip. Have fun stormin' the castle."_

Trip tapped his comm again. "Bridge to Shran."

Three seconds passed.

He almost reached to tap it again…

"_What?! I'm busy!"_

"I need warp and I need it right now."

"_Ten minutes!"_

"I need it _now, _Shran."

"_Five minutes!"_

Trip nodded at that. That'd have to do.

He turned back to the tactical display. Watching the _Enterprise _match speed…coming around now, circling…

And he prayed silently.

Prayed for whatever God decided should happen here. Because…frankly, he was stumped. No idea. So he'd have to just trust and be willing to take whatever happened in stride.

His will be done, after all…

"They're locked on to engineering." Benning reported.

And…there it was. The thing he hadn't realized he'd been waiting for.

They were prepared to disable warp drive. One shot and he wouldn't be going anywhere. But Reed was focused on that lock now, because that had just become crucial.

He turned to T'Pol as he worked furiously on the plan that was going to get them out of this. He had no idea what it was but it'd come to him any second now. Because there was something about her…

His brain just seemed to work more efficiently around her. Even if that still didn't leave him any hope of _keeping up _with her.

He hadn't really been thinking when he told her to come along, actually. There wasn't anything for her to do on the bridge. No way for her to help here. In fact, she still technically wasn't cleared to _be _up here.

He'd just…wanted her with him for this. Taking on the _Enterprise_…that was kinda like slapping your mom around. It was the absolute last thing he'd _ever _thought he'd do.

So…she was moral support or something. Except maybe he had a job for her now.

He smirked then. Because there it was.

"You up for some sneakin' and lyin', Commander?" He asked.

He got the eyebrow for that.

* * *

><p><strong>Enterprise<br>****NX-Class (NX-01)**

Archer dashed to the bridge emergency environmental panel, snatching the cover open and yanking the red handle there.

The air _whooshed _loudly. And powerfully.

Yanking the smoke out of the air, hard and fast enough that his _hair _moved and his jumpsuit actually fluttered.

But the bridge crew was only a second or two from choking to death around here. Something was on fire behind the engineering panel and the Ensign there was busy trying to find it and put it out.

"Malcolm," Archer croaked.

"Thrusters are critical, Captain!" Reed reporting, struggling to speak clearly. "Approaching_…*cough*…_close range…firing!"

On the main viewing screen, only just becoming visible through the smoke, three consecutive phase cannon beams lanced out.

All three struck, flaring against the _Tempest's _shields as she banked hard trying to avoid exactly that. Not splashing through at all but at least softening up those shields…

For the two blue flares leaping out as torpedoes sped on their way…

…one of them even impacting.

"Impact!" Reed reported. "Hull breach."

Archer winced.

Damn it. He wasn't trying to _kill _the ship…

"Their cargo bay, Captain." Malcolm added, intuiting his concerns.

"Their life support's fluctuating." Kerry reported, from Science. "Their shields…almost gone. Hull 30%."

So that'd divide their attention a little. Archer was almost relieved.

Almost.

He had to stop Trip and that meant disabling that ship.

But the _Tempest _was a frigate. A gunboat. She was small and had maybe six pulsed phase cannons, with as many torpedo bays…but the _Enterprise _had only just managed to cut through their defenses. And they had a lot of guns for a ship nearly half their size.

The _Tempest _had yet to even put any real effort into hitting them back. Archer did _not _want to go toe to toe with that ship. Even now.

"Passing outward, 15,000 kilometers." Travis said. "Thrusters _critical_, captain…"

"Cut the plasma bleed, Travis." Archer ordered. "Match speed with them and come around low. Malcolm?"

"I'm locked on." Reed said, tightly.

Archer spared him a surprised glance.

And Malcolm smirked. "That fancy Echo system doesn't handle holes in the hull very well, apparently."

_Now _Archer was relieved.

"Target their nacelles." He said. "We can't let them go to warp, Malcolm. Hoshi, did you lose _everything?"_

Hoshi nodded. "Yes, sir. They did too, though. And I've got operations and engineering back now."

"I've got Helm control, Captain." Travis confirmed.

"Full tactical." Malcolm reported. "As long as we can keep them in _front _of us…"

Archer considered the situation.

They'd taken a risk venting plasma to try to hit _Tempest _hard like that. It had been worth the risk, since that would have…_should _have…knocked their shield system out completely. And that would have put the _Enterprise _on top right off the bat.

But that risk hadn't paid off. And now they couldn't go to warp, so they couldn't let Trip do so either.

Hull integrity was at about 60%. And they still had weapons, with the exception of two cannons to the rear. So they could take the _Tempest _in a stand up fight now, considering they'd finally knocked out their shields. Mostly knocked them out.

But the _Tempest _had seemed to be pulling their punches so far.

And that was…intimidating.

"Captain…they've come full stop." Malcolm said, surprised. "Shields offline and they've shut down that Echo system…"

"Hull depolarizing." Kelly reported.

"Weapons offline too, Captain." Malcolm continued, still surprised. "I think they're standing down…"

Archer's eyes narrowed, eyeing the _Tempest _on the main screen.

Just sitting there now. Defenseless.

"Half impulse. Keep us moving, Travis." Archer ordered. "Stay at close range."

He turned to Malcolm. "Forget the nacelles. Lock on to their warp engine."

A harder lock and a harder shot, but they _were _just sitting there now.

"Locked on, Captain." Reed said, grimly.

"Hoshi, hail them…"

"They're hailing us, sir." She said.

Archer nodded.

Well, okay then.

"Onscreen."

The main viewing screen lit up.

And…that wasn't quite what he was expecting…

He'd expected to find Trip facing him, ready to argue some more.

To surrender, even better. Though not without at least _some _arguing.

The Vulcan Intelligence Officer, with a phase pistol pointed at Trip…while he had his hands behind his head looking both resigned and generally unhappy with the situation…

A little unexpected.

"_Enterprise_." T'Pol said, calmly. "I have Captain Tucker in custody and two security teams are currently in pursuit of Commander Song…"

"What…" Archer said, suddenly confused. "What's going on over there?"

T'Pol arched an eyebrow at him. So he knew he apparently wasn't reacting to things with the expediency Vulcans tended to assume.

"I have taken control of the _Tempest_." She explained. "Several senior officers have aided me in that endeavor, although it is expected that the others will adjust themselves to the situation quickly. I recommend…"

"Commander," Archer interrupted, scowling. "You shot and stunned my Tactical Officer. Do you expect me to believe you're on _our _side now?"

T'Pol gave him the eyebrow again.

"I am not, of course. I am on the side of Vulcan High Command. The attack on the _Enterprise _and the resulting loss of her warp capability does not serve those interests."

Archer glared at the screen. And he considered that.

But he wasn't about to fall for it.

"Then you won't mind if we come alongside and transport a security detail over there." He said.

"Of course, Captain." She said. "I will retain control of the bridge until you are able to do so."

Archer's eyes narrowed all the more.

"So why did you cooperate with Tucker before?" He demanded. "Did _that _serve the interests of High Command?"

"It did, in fact. Captain Tucker has so far indicated he intends to scout and relay intelligence on the approaching Romulan fleet. That of course serves Vulcan interests. Especially if the force approaching Centauri is the main fleet, as intelligence suggests."

Archer chew on that for a second or two.

"Travis." He said, over his shoulder. "Bring us in. Malcolm, assemble a boarding party."

And to Archer's surprise…

"You Vulcan bitch." Trip suddenly seethed.

"I recommend you remain silent, Captain." T'Pol warned, looking down the sights of the phase pistol at him.

Trip was clearly furious. And that was the only time so far that Archer has seen that famous Tucker temper flare up.

"When I'm done with you," Trip snarled. "The rest of the pointy-eared, green-blooded freaks won't even recognize…"

T'Pol shot him.

And he collapsed to the deck of the bridge.

Archer startled. And there were a few exclamations of surprise on the bridge around him.

"Commander…!" He objected.

"Excuse me, Captain." T'Pol said, calmly replacing the pistol at her hip. "Tucker was at risk of becoming…combative."

"You just shot a Starfleet officer!" Archer snapped.

"I merely stunned him." T'Pol denied. "He will recover eventually. In the ship's brig, of course. You may retrieve him there once you've boarded, if you wish. Following that, however, I will retain command of the _Tempest _and proceed with our mission."

"Retain…? Commander, you're not taking that ship."

"Unfortunately, I must. The situation demands it."

"You have no jurisdiction…in fact, I'm not wasting my breath. I'm not going to let a Vulcan take command of a Starfleet vessel."

"Under Article fourteen, subsection twenty-one, part 2B, of the Starfleet command authority provision, I am able to avail myself of all authority…"

"Absolutely not, Commander. I won't even discuss it."

"You are not required to discuss it, Captain. You are required to check the provision cited and acknowledge my authority in this matter."

"Forget it." Archer barked. "Travis, bring us in…"

"Very well, Captain." T'Pol said. And spoke over her shoulder. "Polarize hull, charge weapons. Prepare to engage."

Archer snapped back around again.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Commander?!"

T'Pol cocked an eyebrow, indicating that was perhaps not a very intelligent question.

"I am forcing you into the position of either engaging in combat, risking the ship, or checking the cited provision in order to acknowledge my authority."

Archer fumed.

And whirled on the Communications station. Where Hoshi sat, looking a little wide-eyed.

"Hoshi." He snapped. "Pull up that provision."

Hoshi tapped hesitantly at her console.

For nearly half a minute.

"There's…article fourteen, subsection twenty-one?" She asked, confused.

"That is correct." T'Pol acknowledged.

"I don't see…there _is _no subsection twenty-one." Hoshi frowned. "And article fourteen deals with…interspecies medical exchange…"

"Interesting." T'Pol said. With the eyebrow again. "Perhaps I should familiarize _myself _with the provision. I have clearly misidentified the particular subsection…"

Kelly suddenly interrupted the proceedings.

"Sir…they…their warp engine just spiked!" She exclaimed. "I think…"

"_Shran to the bridge!" _The comm announced.

Over there, on the other side of the view screen.

"_Ready on your mark!"_

"Very well." T'Pol responded. "Activate Echo system."

Archer's attention jerked, from Communications to Science. Then back to the view screen again.

"We've lost the lock!" Reed said. "Reacquiring…"

"Disengage when ready, Helm." T'Pol said, over her shoulder again. "Max warp."

She turned back to the view screen then.

With the eyebrow.

"My apologies, Captain Archer." She said.

And reached to kill the link.

The screen went dark.

So...

Archer stared it for a moment. He knew what had just happened, of course...he just couldn't quite believe it.

"Malcolm…!" Archer demanded furiously, turning on him for answers.

"Sir, they…" Malcolm stuttered. "They just went to warp."


	26. Chapter 26

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Captain's Ready Room, Deck A<strong>

Trip woke up on the floor.

It took a second or two to uncross his eyes and focus a little…and to peer around Doctor Andrews' shoulder, since he was in the way…

Navy grey paint up there, type 2 high stress bulk plating…the forth light flickered every couple of seconds…

Right. The ready room. On the _Tempest_.

Need to remember to fix that light…

_Crap!_

He jerked up, trying to at least get on his butt. And he immediately regretted that.

"Ow." He said, one hand flying to his suddenly throbbing skull. His brain seemed to have gotten too big to fit comfortably in there anymore.

"Relax, Captain." Andrew soothed. "Your system's still recovering. Let's not aggravate things."

Right, Trip thought. Not supposed to aggravate things…

Wait, where was T'Pol with her nice, warm hands? That'd sure hit the spot right about now…

"Wha happen?" He mumbled, still holding his head. Peeking out with one eye now at least.

Andrews was busy scanning him and focused primarily on that.

"It would seem Commander T'Pol stunned you." Andrews said, distractedly. "Stunned you _again_, I understand."

"Yeah, she…no, wait. Malcolm shot me las' time." Trip slurred. "And what's the…thing with the ship?"

"We're out of danger for the moment, Captain. Currently at max warp, on course to bring us back to our originally projected route in approximately one hour."

Trip nodded. Then stopped that immediately when the thing with his brains happened again.

Funny, though. Andrews sounded kinda…

"Sound like a Vulcan." Trip said.

"I would assume that is because I am."

Mm hmm.

Wait…what?

Trip opened both of his eyes now. And focused them again.

No, Andrews hadn't turned into a Vulcan…

But T'Pol had. Or…already was…

She was standing over him, peering down curiously over Andrews' shoulder.

"Oh, hey." Trip said. "Wondered where you were."

"I'm here. Doctor Andrews is assessing you for nervous system damage. You should cooperate with him, Captain."

"No problem." He said, relaxing into the thinly cushioned carpeting on the floor. "How'd I end up in here?"

"You were in the way." T'Pol explained.

"Oh…okay, what's our status?"

"We are on course as I've stated. Lieutenant Shran and Commander Hess are conducting repairs. There is minimal structural damage to the ship, the majority being energy dispersal damage. With the exception of a minor hull breach in the cargo bay…"

"The missiles?" Trip asked, anxiously.

"Intact and secured until repairs are affected there."

"Okay, good."

But…she'd said 'conducting repairs', not 'overseeing repairs'.

"How many engineers do we have?" He asked. "And…for that matter, where's all the crew? And what are _you _doing here, Doc?"

"You need a physician on duty, Captain." Andrews said, tearing his eyes away from the scanner just long enough to answer. "Commander Song approached me and asked who I would recommend. I recommended myself."

"No medics?"

"Uh…no. Just me. But I'm sure I can handle whatever…"

"No, that's fine, Doc." Trip assured. "I get it. I didn't want to ask any of my people either. _Wouldn't _have, if I could fly the ship all by myself."

Andrews nodded, turning his attention back to where it belonged.

"I think I can clear you to get up off the floor, at least." Andrews decided, grinning. "But if you could avoid being shot for a few days, I'd appreciate it."

Trip grinned back. "Believe me, I'll do my best."

As he rolled himself up and took to his feet again, Andrews stepped clear and waited. In case he became disoriented again with the change in blood pressure.

He didn't, so he nodded, satisfied.

"I think you'll find it much the same with the rest of the command staff." Andrews said, shrugging. "No one wanted to ask their people or even give them the opportunity to volunteer."

Trip stretched his back a little, grimacing. "Alpha and Gamma bridge crew, department heads and seconds. At least, that's what I gather."

Andrews shrugged again, apologetically. "Jenson managed to figure out something was going on, so he volunteered. Hastings and Breckinridge from security as well. That's…well, that seems to be it."

"It'll do." Trip nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

Doctor Andrews produced a prepared hypospray, offering it to him.

"This will help with the stiffness and speed up recovery with that bruise on your shoulder." He said. "One shot every four hours until it's healed. Then you check in with me, so I can be _sure _it's healed."

"Gotcha." Trip said, accepting the hypospray.

Andrews nodded. "Well, I've still got an Ensign with a broken leg in sickbay. We have Ensign James as well, by the way, but he'll still be out of commission for a while. And I have a couple of other minor injuries that could use a second look…"

"Sure, go ahead, Doc." He nodded. "And…thanks. I hate to say I'm glad you're here but…"

Trip grinned shyly. "Well, I'm glad you're here."

Andrews nodded, smirking back a little.

And he left.

Leaving Trip with Commander T'Pol.

After a moment more Trip squinted at her, quirking his mouth aside thoughtfully.

"So…you shot me." He said. Pointing that out.

"Yes." T'Pol said.

"Why?" Trip asked, prompting maybe an answer to that.

T'Pol thought it over for a short moment.

"It seemed logical." She decided. "I wasn't entirely sure what you meant when you said we would 'wing it'…until you made your bigoted remarks toward Vulcans…"

Trip winced. "Right. Yeah, sorry about that. I got this idea it'd help if I…seemed…you know…"

He waved a hand a bit, trying to conjure up exactly what he meant here.

"Like a bigoted, speciest terrorist?" T'Pol supplied.

"Right." Trip nodded. "I didn't really mean…I mean, I wasn't _really_…"

T'Pol watched, waiting patiently for him to communicate successfully.

"I guess I just kinda tapped into the old Trip there for a minute." He explained, at last. "So…sorry. I was just…"

"Captain, you are being very Human."

"I…huh?"

"You are apologizing for being successful." She explained. "I assume because you are suffering an emotional reaction to the prospect of having caused offense. I am not offended, however. In fact, I found your improvisational acting very helpful. Without it I would not have fully understood…'winging it'."

"Winging it." Trip repeated. "Like, when you shot me."

"Indeed." T'Pol nodded. "I am of course familiar with the concept, though I haven't heard it referred to in that manner. But my actions provoked a dramatic amount of shock in the bridge crew of the _Enterprise_, following your own as they did. This made our attempt to delay them all the more effective in conjunction with one another."

"Yeah, I bet." Trip said, dryly.

Then…considered that again.

"Yeah, I bet it did." He said appreciatively. "Good work, Commander."

"I expected you would approve."

Trip gave her another look then. An appreciative look.

And T'Pol found the amused 'twinkle' in his eye very agreeable. Which provoked her to some measure of confidence.

So she decided to try her hand at taking advantage of his emotional state.

"Captain, concerning the ship's 'Echo system'…"

"Yeah?"

"I would assume that this is Project Mayhem?"

Trip grinned. "The first rule of Project Mayhem, Commander."

T'Pol considered that.

"It is not, then." She decided.

"No, just one of the little gadgets we were supposed to field test." Trip said, shrugging.

Then he frowned. And put his hands on his hips, giving that a proper evaluation.

"One of the things we had to pull our transporter to make room for, come to think of it." He said. "So I guess that wasn't exactly a good trade. Sure could have used a transporter."

T'Pol found that curious. "It seemed very effective."

"Well, sure." He said. "Once you sabotaged their sensors and we knocked out one of their targeting arrays. And it still didn't stop Malcolm from almost ripping us a new one. But, then again, all it's supposed to do is make it harder to lock on targeting sensors. I guess it did that alright. And actually…I bet that's really gonna help if we manage to find the Romulan fleet."

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant Shran reports the system suffered significant damage." T'Pol said, regretfully. "She used the term 'feedback cascade' in a manner that suggested it was central to the point."

Trip winced at that. Because, apparently, that was bad.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that." Trip said. "We've got a pretty good engineering team all of a sudden, so I think I can demand a miracle or two."

He smiled slightly then, T'Pol noticed. Almost staring at the wall behind her as he did so.

Looking...wistful, perhaps? T'Pol wasn't quite sure what word best captured the look, being an _emotional _look, but that seemed to qualify.

"I gotta admit I won't mind working with Hess again, anyway." He said.

Which T'Pol did not find agreeable. Commander Hess was an obvious security risk that had yet to be addressed.

"…but then again maybe that's not a good idea."

And that demanded investigation and clarification.

"From your remarks in the cargo bay," T'Pol ventured. "I assumed you shared a positive working relationship. If not a personal affiliation."

Trip shrugged, returning his attention to her. "Yeah, well…things might be a little more serious there than I thought. I mean, we always played around. Flirted a little, sure. And I always liked her. It's just, I'm not sure…"

He suddenly reexamined her interest, she could see. And she wondered if she'd overstepped the mark somewhat.

"What am I telling _you _this for?" He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear about that sort of thing…"

"I don't mind, Captain." She assured. "If I am to work with a Human crew, it is logical to be aware of interpersonal relationships and their potential impact on the ship."

"Oh." Trip said, uncomfortably. "Well, don't worry about it."

Then he suddenly reassessed her yet again.

And squinted at her, thinking.

For a short while. Long enough to cause her some discomfort.

"Captain?" She asked, hoping to prompt an explanation for this.

Trip nodded.

"So let's talk about T'Lea and the Sisco system, Commander." Trip said, evenly.

T'Pol blinked.

So…he hadn't overlooked that after all.

"Of course, Captain." She said, "It was purely a precautionary measure…"

"A precaution against what?"

"Any unforeseen circumstance that might require remote access and control of operations functions."

"Like, for example, you and your team deciding that taking over the ship might be logical?"

"Or, more relevant, as a means of resisting the attempts of a highly skilled Starfleet comm officer from doing the same. While simultaneously hacking _their _systems…"

"And I suppose you had that sort of situation in mind when you ordered Subaltern T'Lea to do that." Trip said, frowning at her.

Almost glaring, actually.

"I admit, I did not." T'Pol said. "No more than seizing the ship, as you suggest."

Trip continued to stare.

With perhaps more hostility and distrust than she would have preferred.

"This is a problem, Commander." He said, lowly.

T'Pol nodded slightly. And folded her hands properly at her back.

"I understand your concerns." She said.

But that did not seem to mollify the Captain at all.

"I hear you and Song already had this talk." Trip said. "I think she said something about how this sort of thing can't happen again. Maybe something about airlocks?"

So Commander Song had apparently relayed their understanding to the Captain. Which may prove unfortunate for her now.

"She did." T'Pol acknowledged. "However, I ordered this action prior to that discussion. And subsequent circumstances did not allow a reassessment of those orders…"

"Let's not miss the point here, Commander."

T'Pol…found herself in a difficult position.

And she spent a moment considering that. Specifically, what to do about it.

"I find myself in a difficult position." She admitted, still standing at ease. But at least looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"What are we gonna do about that?"

"I am uncertain." T'Pol said. "It seems I have given you a number of reasons to question your trust. And yet your trust is required if I and my team are to be of any significant benefit here."

"Let me see if I can help you out." Trip said.

And he began pacing a bit.

A very obvious and very Human behavior, utilized to expel excess emotional energy. Which did not bode well here.

"You lied about your prisoner on the shuttle." Trip pointed out. "Then you lied again to delay us long enough for the _Kolinahr _to run off with them. And you played a little game with Commander Benning, so the Major could get into the brig and interrogate _another _prisoner before we could. And now there's this. I'm sure I'm missing a few things, but that's probably because they got lost in all the other little lies and misdirections I _haven't _missed."

Trip stopped pacing. And he stared at her, waiting.

T'Pol waited as well. Standing at ease.

Betraying nothing. But not so much because that was her intention. Merely because it was her nature.

Trip kept staring, until he was sure there would be no response.

"Alright." He said. "If I've got to say it, then there's something you're scared to death we're going to find out about. Something that first prisoner knew, the one you pulled off a Romulan listening post. And something you were afraid the _other _prisoner knew, since he could have been working with the Romulans. Something to do with the Romulans, then. And that's what you were in the Centauri system for in the first place."

T'Pol said nothing.

"And whatever it is," Trip said, more pointedly now. "It's big enough that you were prepared to seize control of the ship if we managed to figure it out."

Trip stared some more.

And T'Pol waited patiently again.

Until he finally threw out his hands in frustration.

"Your turn to talk, Commander!"

She nodded.

"I understand your concerns…"

"That's not cutting it with me, T'Pol." Trip said, firmly. "You want my trust? Then you need to give me something here. _Show me _I can trust you."

T'Pol hesitated.

And even Trip could see she was having a difficult moment.

"Captain," She said, at last. "You are correct. It is a significant matter and one entrusted to us by High Command. And, indeed, it is a matter significant enough that seizing control of the ship was not an unthinkable precaution. However…I find I can only reiterate my previous assurances that we are here to help. Perhaps that is based entirely on our loyalty being first and foremost to High Command, but aiding you in your endeavor serves that purpose almost directly. Just as acting against the success of your mission would betray that."

Trip had his arms folded before him now. That was defensive body language, T'Pol noted. In most emotional species, in similar situations, it strongly suggested closed mindedness.

Again, this did not bode well.

He shrugged then. "Didn't stop you from hacking our systems, T'Pol. I don't know how comfortable you expect me to be with that."

"I do not expect comfort with that assurance." T'Pol admitted. "But I can find nothing else to offer you."

"You could offer just what it is you're all so afraid of." He pointed out. "Then I could at least understand. And I'd know where we stand with each other."

"That…is not possible, Captain."

Trip considered that.

Then looked away. And sighed slightly.

And again she noted what this emotional expression passively communicated there.

He was giving up. Specifically on his trust in her.

"Captain," She said, quickly. "Understand that I cannot answer you here for the same reasons that you could not offer your assurances that this answer would not be relayed to your superiors. You are asking more from me than you would be willing to give in return."

"If you're saying you can't tell me unless I promise not to tell Starfleet, then of course I can't promise that. It seems to be pretty important, Commander. It's probably something they need to know."

"Yes, exactly. It is considered very important. And so I hope you can understand that there is no choice for me."

Trip frowned.

"Well, it's got something to do with your relationship with the Romulans." He said. "That much is obvious."

Then he looked at her strangely all of a sudden.

So she was aware her disciplines must have slipped for a moment. And she'd betrayed her shock at that.

"Well, _that _hit the mark." Trip said, curiously. "You know, maybe Humans haven't been on the scene all that long but we're not stupid. We know there's _something _there between Vulcans and Romulans. I can't figure how anything like that could be so important that it'd justify taking over my ship, though."

"In fact, it is not." T'Pol admitted.

Partly because she was still somewhat shocked at how close he'd come to the truth.

She should not, perhaps, have voiced that opinion…

"What do you mean?" Trip asked, pouncing instantly.

So…

T'Pol resigned herself to answering that point.

"It is my opinion that the matter is not important enough to warrant that level of intervention. In fact, I find it difficult to accept that the matter can be contained for much longer, considering direct interaction with the Romulans has become unavoidable. And so all of my actions, which have provoked your distrust, have likely been in vain."

"You just said it _was _important."

"I said that it was _considered _important. By my superiors and by most in High Command. I personally disagree."

Trip squinted at her again.

"But you're still not going to tell me."

"That would betray High Command and the orders I have been given. I'm sorry, Captain, but I will not do that."

Trip quirked a grin at that.

"Kinda leaves us at an impasse, doesn't it?"

"Yes, unfortunately it does." T'Pol agreed. "And it is also ironic, as another large part of my decision to give T'Lea that order involved the fact that Starfleet is seen as an organization that offers its trust too easily. Detecting a number of apparent weaknesses in security aboard the _Tempest _regarding that, I ordered this measure as much in preparation to respond to such a security breach as anything else."

Trip mulled that over, still looking at her critically while he did so.

"Okay." He said, after a long, uncomfortable time doing that.

Then he simply nodded at the door.

"I guess we can spare your people for a while." He said. "You probably need to meditate or something. I'm gonna to do the math and figure out how we're going to rotate the crew we've got. Try to give some of my people an actual break. Been a hectic couple of days…or _few _days, now that I think about it….I'll call a staff meeting then and we'll have something like a duty schedule for everyone."

And…that was apparently that.

T'Pol was a little surprised. A little off-balance, in fact.

But she was quick to avail herself of the apparent reprieve she'd been afforded. At least until she had the opportunity to figure out what exactly had just gone on in the man's head.

"That is agreeable, Captain." She said, casually. "If you require anything, I am prepared to make myself available at any time."

"I've no doubt." Trip said. "Get some rest, Commander."

T'Pol nodded.

And, since it seemed appropriate, she excused herself and left. To assemble her team and discuss how best to go about regaining the trust they'd lost here.

Trip stared at the door for a while. Squinting at it, considering matters.

Then he made his decision.

"Alice, online."

"_Hello, Trip. I have successfully recalibrated my root language and self-diagnostics indicate I am operating at peak efficiency. Would you like to review engineering diagnostics and repair manuals for the HBG Mark III hull polarization grid?"_

"Thanks, Alice. Not right now. Pull up the Sisco operating system, put it on the screen here. I want to look into something."

"_Understood. Schematics and operational data are now available at your desk. I am ready to begin."_


	27. Chapter 27

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Sickbay, Deck B<strong>

Shran entered the sickbay.

And was immediately confronted with Lieutenant Downing resting comfortably in a recovery bed right next to Ensign James. Which would have been enough to cause her some pause, considering the events that occurred when last she visited here.

They seemed to be involved in an in-depth discussion with Major Tulok, the Vulcan spy.

On the subject of exploding bridge consoles.

That was quite enough to tempt her to turn right around and go find something that needed to be fixed. Or make another preventive maintenance run.

Or just plain go polish something.

"The plasma conduits themselves aren't really the issue," Downing explained.

Gesturing, Shran was disturbed to notice, with hands wrapped in a thin layer of bandage.

"That's just electro-plasma. You can get that to overload explosively under the right conditions…like hitting the engine or a plasma accelerator, something that's attached or adjacent to some part of that whole system, anyway…but that doesn't normally happen."

"Right." Ensign James chimed in. "What you're usually looking at is a hit to the _hull_. Plain old energy dispersal. A beam weapon carries a heck of a lot more power than people think. When you see a ship shoot another ship in a movie…"

"Or even actual combat footage, for that matter." Downing noted.

"Right." James nodded. "It doesn't _look _like there's a lot of energy being thrown around, but there is. A _huge _amount of energy. You've got to remember, you're trying to blast through hull plating reinforced by a polarization matrix."

"Or a deflector shield." Downing added. "Or both, like the _Tempest_. And who knows what kind of defenses you're going to be up against with some alien race you never met before. But the fact is…you almost have to drop a star on something like that just to get through."

"So anything that _does _get through…" James said. "That's going to be a heck of a lot of energy. And it's going to behave pretty unpredictably once it punches its way through all that."

Major Tulok listened with interest. Even an eyebrow or two.

And no one noticed her approach. Despite how hard she was glaring at everyone.

"I see." Tulok said. "But doesn't this illustrate the necessity of surge protection and insulation?"

"Well, sure." Downing agreed. "It's not like we don't have basic power controls in place. Isolators, surge protectors, resistors, simple insulation…but with that kind of power being tossed around something's going to give somewhere. Then you have an arc jump from any power component to the frame of the ship…and that's all it takes. That massive power surge is going to follow the path of least resistance and end up…well, anywhere."

"And it's almost impossible to predict." James said. "We run simulations and tests all the time trying to find potential problems like that. But all you need is a few hours at warp and a tiny little shift in the structural layout of the ship…"

"Or even just the shakes from maneuvering aggressively on impulse." James added. "And just forget about combat, which is what we're talking about…"

"…and then you have something just a little bit off somewhere, just enough that a random power surge can find and exploit it."

Shran was standing right there.

Glaring at them.

They still hadn't noticed her.

"In this case." Downing said, holding up his bandaged hands for inspection. "My bridge console. Haven't had a chance to check, but I'd bet that surge came right from the hull. Down through the ship frame and up to the bridge. Jumped from there to a weak point in the EPS conduit, found a weak isolator somewhere…"

That was enough of that.

Shran spoke up then.

Since they still hadn't noticed her.

"Exceeding the maximum flashpoint of the isolator," She said. "Overwhelming the EPS conduits in the console and exiting the surface at all points of connection with the holographic interface. In order to proceed, still seeking the path of least resistance, through Lieutenant Downing's body and into the tactical display projector housing at his feet."

They all looked at her.

Finally.

"Which is why it is important to conduct regular inspections and testing to find and identify these points of weakness when they occur." She continued, her eyes hard. "And why engineers are required to do that following every warp, _during _warp, during high-stress maneuvering, _between _high-stress maneuvering, before, during and after combat, at regularly scheduled intervals and at every other moment when they're not otherwise occupied with their duties."

She glared some more.

And since they didn't seem to get the point…

"Rather than lingering in sickbay having intellectual discussions about it." She said, pointedly. "Instead of doing it."

"I'm supposed to be back on duty in an hour, ma'am." James said, quickly.

"Good." Shran said, snappily. "Maybe we can avoid another injury of this sort, since I'm sure you'll be making up for lost time with the dedication and attention to detail you'll be showing."

"Yes, ma'am."

Shran turned on Downing then.

"And you, Lieutenant? Shall I bring you a pillow or prop your feet up for you? I had hoped to be relieved some time today so I could get to all the work I scheduled myself for my _off_-duty hours. Obviously seeing to your comfort would be more important, of course."

"Just waiting for a final checkup, ma'am."

"How very encouraging." Shran snorted. "I almost feel as if I have an engineering staff at my disposal."

The sickbay doors opened.

And Commander Song entered.

So…Shran suddenly had reason to remember she wasn't supposed to be a total bitch around here anymore.

Just a partial bitch.

She took a deep breath…held it for a moment…and steeled herself.

"So, Ensign James." She said, not quite as coldly. "How's the leg?"

"Uh…fine, ma'am." He said, somewhat surprised. "Just…waiting for discharge. Then I'm good to go."

Shran nodded. "I'll see about intimidating the Doctor into getting to that soon. And you, Lieutenant?"

Downing looked confused. "Ma'am?"

"Your hands, Downing. How are they?"

"Oh. Had some pretty bad burns but that stuff the Doctor used works really well. I can wiggle my fingers again, anyway."

Shran nodded. "Good to hear."

She paused, a little uncertain.

"I'll…leave you to your recovery." She said.

But that was a little _too _partially bitchy.

"Which I expect you'll return to duty from soon." She said, more firmly. With a little glaring. "Before I'm forced to abandon _my _duties in order to come here and waste my time again."

"Yes, ma'am." They said. In almost perfect unison.

So…good, then.

Shran turned to leave. And Commander Song was there waiting.

"Lieutenant." Song nodded, politely.

Shran paused…and growled a little. Because there really wasn't any other way to express herself just then.

Then proceeded forward, _around _Commander Song, and out of the sickbay.

Song suppressed a grin, and not very successfully, before stepping over to the recovery beds herself.

Both the men smiled happily. Glad to see her, apparently. Or perhaps just anyone who wasn't going to snap at them for sitting around healing from injuries sustained in the line of duty.

Song smiled back, of course. Because, despite how tired and generally overworked she was at the moment…she was in a pretty good mood.

Watching Shran try to play nice there for a minute…that'd really taken the edge off.

"How are you boys doing?" She grinned.

* * *

><p>Benning found the Captain in the ready room, where he'd been since their narrow escape from the <em>Enterprise<em>. Almost twelve hours ago.

He was slumped over his desk, passed out cold, of course. Three cups scattered around, one of which was sure to be half filled with hours-old coffee. A couple of empty plates stacked up off to one side, off-kilter since they both held sandwiches of some sort that he hadn't finished eating.

Benning snorted with some humor at the sight. It was hardly the first time he'd seen it and he should have expected it. Any kind of stressful situation and the Captain responded by going into overdrive immediately thereafter.

Until he eventually crashed, of course. And then spent another couple of hours after that cleaning up his own mess and undoing all the things that had seemed like a good idea immediately _prior _to that crash. When he was maybe a little too wore down to think in an entirely critical manner.

It was an engineer thing, he supposed. They all seemed to do it to one degree or another.

Shran at least, being Andorian, tired out a lot more easily under stress. But, then again, she didn't need to rest for very long, so you hardly ever noticed that she did the exact same thing Tucker did. She just did it quicker.

Benning examined the scene before him then. And he knew how to deal with this.

He turned right back around and left.

Hiked down to the mess hall, snagged a couple of energy bars and the biggest cup of coffee he could find, then came right back.

Arranged it all within easy reach, pulled the free chair over from the other side of the room and sat down.

Then waited for the Captain's freaky sixth sense about something needing to be done to wake him up.

It did, quickly enough, with the Captain twitching, snorting and pulling himself suddenly up into a vaguely upright position to look around half-conscious. Looking for whatever it was that he was supposed to be doing that had woken him up.

Spying him and spending a moment staring until he remembered who he was.

"Benning." He decided. "What? What happened?"

"Nothing, sir. Security and after action reports."

Trip nodded, even if Benning could see that hadn't quite processed yet. He looked down at his desk, then over at the screen.

"Where was I?" He mumbled, turning back to him. "Right. The Sisco…I need some coffee."

"Right there, sir."

"Ah." He said, snatching it up. Leaning back with a tired sigh to take a sip.

A moment enjoying the warmth of that, a good rub at his eyes to get things back into focus there and then he was ready.

"Whatcha got, Benning?"

He whipped out his PADD and keyed up the report.

"Well, sir. First order of business is my recommendation that we never, ever, _ever _put Alice in control of operations again. Or any other ship system. Not with the way we have her plugged into Sisco…"

"Already done." Tucker smirked, waving vaguely as the monitor on his desk. "Sisco's too easy to hack. Hoshi tapped into it and walked right past her to get to engineering. Heck, I've got transcripts of the nice little _conversation _they had while she was doing it."

"And then there's Subaltern T'Lea." Benning pointed out.

Trip nodded. "Same thing. You took care of that, I guess."

"No computer access at all, for any of them. Security's quietly tracking their locations at all times and monitoring their communications…but since that's still the question, what did you do about that?"

Trip shrugged, sipping his coffee again. "Just beefed up the comm aura a bit, so it's not so easy to tap into from _outside _the system. Made room for some ICE I'm gonna have Song put together. Poked around at a couple of other things. But I think we're gonna have to either cut Alice off from everything, which will make her just about useless, or go ahead and get serious. Plug her directly into the computer core so she can take advantage of full protections and countermeasures."

Benning winced. "Plug in the overlord, sir? Not something I was looking forward to."

Trip grinned. "I think our shakedown cruise, slash, experimental prototype field testing phase is officially over, Commander. We have to either make use of her or go ahead and unplug her, box her and write up our evaluation."

"Rather use her if we could." Benning said. "We need every resource we can get."

Trip nodded, agreeing.

"You've got to admit," Trip said. "She took to hacking like a fish to water. I think she'll be pretty good at defending herself, once she has the tools to do it. And…you know, someone _tells _her to do it."

Benning smirked.

"Alright, second order of business." He said, returning to his PADD. "Bridge combat reporting protocols. We got a little sloppy during our…disagreement with the _Enterprise_."

Trip frowned. "Yeah. We all kinda slipped back into our old Academy training, didn't we?"

"The whole point of the tactical display and the holo-consoles was so we didn't have to yell at each other constantly." Benning noted. "All the information's right there in front of us. We're going to have to get back _out _of that habit before we get in another fight. Probably should note that in our evaluation while we're at it. The Academy's going to need to change their protocol training if Starfleet starts making use of this gear."

Trip considered that, with a wry grin.

"You know…we're sitting here talking like we're ever going to _submit _those evaluations."

Benning hesitated, realizing that.

"Yes, sir." He said, with a snort. "I guess we are."

Trip shrugged. "Maybe we will. Who knows? What about the Vulcan prisoner?"

"Still in the brig." Benning said. "I suppose we could shoot him out a torpedo tube at the Romulans when we find them, but other than that…just another mouth to feed."

"Well, we've got plenty of food stores now, with the skeleton crew we're running. Speaking of which, I'm starving…"

"Right there, sir."

"Oh, good. Thanks."

"So…third order of business." Benning said, scrolling down his PADD. "Experimental systems. I think we can officially give a big thumbs up to the deflector shielding. Saved our asses twice so far with no notable issues. Starfleet's going to _love _that."

Trip chuckled, around a mouth full of energy bar. "Yes, they are. Echo needs work, though. Too much power, burns out. Good otherwise. System silent…well, it's a nice backup to the Echo but other than that I'm not impressed."

He squinted then, thinking something over.

"In fact…we should combine those two systems. That'd solve half the problem and they aren't very good independently anyway."

"I'd certainly appreciate it, if you can pull it off." Benning nodded, enthusiastically. "Shaking lock just stops the other guy from targeting systems or making precision shots…or hitting _at all _if they maneuver too wildly…"

"Kind of a big deal, Benning." Trip argued, around a mouthful of energy bar.

"Yes, sir." Benning agreed. "It is."

Trip nodded. "I guess that's my next project then."

Benning spared him a respectful stare…until…

"Right." Trip nodded. "_Shran's _next project. I'm the Captain. Got it."

"So that leaves…" Benning said, checking back with his PADD. "Project Mayhem and Flash Mob. Can't deploy the Mob without Mayhem and all we've got to go on so far are field tests."

"Well, we already know where we're getting our live fire exercise on that one. Let's hope we _don't _get to test it."

"Or…that we do." Benning said. "I'd hate to have gone through all this trouble without finding that fleet."

Trip stopped chewing for a second.

Then nodded, swallowing. "Good point. You're right. And that just kinda ruined my appetite, Richard. Thanks."

Benning smirked. "Sorry, sir."

Trip busily devoured the last of the second energy bar. Despite his claim concerning appetite.

Then brushed his hands together busily.

"Okay, my turn." He said, reaching and pulling the monitor around so Benning could see.

He pointed out the obvious with one finger.

"Tell me I'm not the only one that didn't realize this." He said, pointing at the screen.

Benning squinted and…well, that was very interesting, wasn't it?

"How long has _that _been going on?"

"Since about two seconds after we brought Sisco online."

Benning's jaw almost dropped.

"You're joking!"

Trip snorted. "Nope. We put it together ourselves, if you remember. So we didn't have to take bids or go through Starfleet approved contractors. We just picked up that box of ten terabyte memory chips on clearance at the Orion station. Because they were cheap. It was a steal."

Benning's eye flickered, putting the pieces of _that _puzzle together.

"The comm unit itself doesn't need a lot of memory." He said. "Alice handles all that offline…"

"…so the comm's memory never gets anywhere near capacity." Trip said.

"So it never clears the cache." Benning nodded.

"And that's why the Sisco comm system has every conversation that ever occurred anywhere near a Sisco unit preserved in memory. Preserved here and there, on individual comm units…but still."

Benning sat back in his chair, a little stunned.

But he got onboard with the idea quickly…

"Can we access it?"

* * *

><p>Checking in with Downing and James, just to let them know everyone was thinking about them, giving them a little support right before they returned to duty…that turned into a nice conversation that kind of ranged all over the place.<p>

It was pretty fun, actually.

They were a couple of talented and knowledgeable engineers, so they all ended up talking about warp pulse theory, transporter duplication and how phase modulators worked. As well as a dozen other things Song barely understood and had to stretch the boundaries of her knowledge to follow along with.

And of course Tulok was there. So that made it all the more fun.

Vulcans really had a way of challenging you. You could talk about apple pie and find yourself plumbing depths of the subject you never knew existed.

Because, of course, they actually _had _discussed apple pie at one point. The Humans concerning themselves at first with whether or not it was superior to pecan pie.

It was a relevant discussion, after all, considering how more often the one appeared on the menu than the other around here. And they all agreed that was due to the Captain's influence.

But Tulok had referenced the logic of food, which piqued everyone's interest. And that led to a long, detailed philosophical discussion concerning the purpose of positive taste. Hence, whether or not, and to what degree, it was logical to enjoy food.

Which led to the very interesting discussion concerning the logic of attending to any other physical need that rewarded such attendance with pleasure.

A discussion that _somebody _in the room very skillfully manipulated all around, without quite touching upon, the most provocative example of. Someone who's name started with a "T" and ended with "Major Tulok".

Song ended up hanging around in sickbay for over an hour.

When she'd meant to simply stop by and check in. Express well wishes, general support, etcetera.

And, yes, damn it.

She became aware of all those stupid signals she was blaring off about halfway through that hour.

And she couldn't freakin' stop. Even when she realized it.

Combing her hair with her fingers and tucking it behind her ear. Fiddling with the zipper of her uniform shirt, right at her "vee" of her throat. Smiling way too much and even trying…_going out of her way_, in fact…to make eye contact.

She had to stop herself twice from reaching out and touching him to emphasize some point she was making. Or, you know, just to touch him.

And, yeah. She knew enough about Vulcans to know better than that. Might as well grab the guy's crotch.

Not to mention, for crying out loud…

…staring at his mouth.

Because, seriously. What the hell, Keyla?

She finally made her getaway somehow. No idea how she did that, but she found herself breaking free and dashing to the door to get back to work.

Or…not so much dashing as casually…

Okay, she hadn't moved like she was in any kind of hurry. In case he might decide to come after her.

Which he did.

And her hand went into full rebellion again, not hitting that panel with any kind of haste. Making sure the door didn't get open and let her out into the corridor before he could catch up.

Apparently she seriously needed to get laid. _A lot. _Enough that it was making her completely stupid.

So, what the hell. Screw it. Why not?

"Hey." She smiled, as he came alongside.

Flash those pearly whites, girl!

Oh…wait.

Did that even work on Vulcans? That was probably a pretty outrageous emotional display…

She stopped smiling. With her mouth anyway. Kept smiling with her eyes, though.

"Commander." Tulok said. "I have a proposal for you."

Song…almost couldn't breathe for a second.

Already? And never mind her last semi-lucid thought a moment ago. They hadn't even had anything like a _date _yet. Hell, that had been the first real _conversation _they'd had since…

"Prior to your arrival, Lieutenant Downing and Ensign James mentioned a social ritual that I found intriguing."

That surprised her with the little flutter in the unmentionables at the mental image _that _provoked. Involving a certain savage Vulcan and a certain 'social ritual' the most deeply perverse part of her mind had way too much fun painting a picture of.

"Uh…" Song stuttered. "Okay."

And, oh my God, was she blushing?

_Seriously?!_

"What…uh." She tried again. "What ritual?"

"Movie night." Tulok explained. "I am of course familiar with movies, but it seems to serve a particularly relevant purpose to this crew. And as a social interaction approaches the status of 'ritual'."

Well…

…she wasn't disappointed by that at all.

Damn it.

"Oh…yeah." She said, intelligently. "It was…uh…a weekly event around here but we've been a little busy. I think we've missed two in a row now, in fact."

"I believe the next event would normally take place tomorrow evening."

Huh. Tomorrow? She'd really lost track of days, apparently.

She frowned a little, though. Because it kind of sucked, but…

"I doubt we'll have this one, either." She said, regretfully. "We still have some repairs to do, plans to make. And the missiles aren't entirely ready yet."

"Understandable, of course." He said, agreeably.

And damn his eyes were brown.

Seriously. Those are some really nicely brown eyes you got there…

"However, I think there is nothing that could not be put off long enough to attend to movie night. And considering the social benefits and the effect on crew morale, that would be easily justifiable. In fact, logical."

Song said it. Before she decided to say it or even had a chance to consider _not _saying it…

"Are you planning on taking me to the movies, Major?"

With just the perfect little playful smirk.

Damn, Keyla!

She got the eyebrow in response.

_Damn, Keyla!_

"That is my intention, Commander." Tulok said. With just the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye.

Oh.

_Damn_, Keyla.

"I'll…see what I can do." She said.

A little breathlessly.

Just a little.

The Major nodded agreeably.

"Very well, Commander." He said. "If you will excuse me, I have to report to Commander T'Pol. Perhaps we can speak again at dinner? I believe you break from duties at 1800 hours. Do you expect you will be available?"

"Yeah, sure." Song said. With smiling eyes. "I'll meet you in the mess hall."

Oh, yeah. So available.

_Extremely _available.

"Until then, Commander." He nodded.

And he turned, and was gone. Off to do whatever Vulcan Super Spies do at 1500 hours.

Which, crap…three hours to get ready. _Two_, actually, since she still had to hit the Science department and give those three their assignments.

And how the heck do you even prepare for a date…no, wait, _dinner_…with a Vulcan?

Whatever! She'd wing it. And it'd be fine.

Because she was _so _getting laid tomorrow night.


	28. Chapter 28

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Captain's Ready Room, Deck A<strong>

In the Captain's ready room, sitting behind his desk facing Benning, Trip smirked happily.

'Can we access it?'

Really?

"I think you forget who you're talking to, Commander." He said, pleased with himself no little amount.

He reached and tapped casually at the control console.

Calling up a transcript, several pages in length.

"Alice and I tested it out last night." He said. "I've got a transcript of that conversation you and I had about Tellarite politics two months ago. And we didn't just pull it from _our _comms, either. We got it from every _other _comm you and I came in range of while we were walking around, too. Just to see if we could do that. And we could."

Benning wasn't immediately impressed, though.

Benning frowned instead.

"That's why I tightened up the aura." Trip explained quickly, seeing that. "Tightened it up _a lot."_

That still didn't seem to make him happy.

"So the comms aren't picking up _other _conversations." Trip explained. "And I can set privacy restrictions _and _the cache any time. Already got that set up, ready to go."

Well, okay…

But, still. From where Benning sat, the prospect of someone accessing private conversations going back whole months…

No, that didn't make him happy at all.

And, besides…

"If we're going have to keep shaking the bugs out of the Sisco, sir," Benning grumbled. "Then we might as well go ahead and submit it to Starfleet with the rest of this gear. Make it official."

Trip chuckled.

"Not a bad idea." He said. "It's a great system, if we can work out all the kinks."

Benning shook his head.

"They really should have tested all this stuff a couple of years ago, Captain. We'd have it all squared away by now, installed on every Starfleet ship and be a lot better prepared for Rommie."

Trip shrugged. "Don't really think we could have been prepared for that. And I had to dig up most of this stuff from Starfleet R&D archives before I could fine tune it and submit it. They never would have gotten around to testing any of it."

"I thought Mayhem and Sisco were yours?"

"Well, yeah. And the Xyrillian team helped me with Mayhem. The rest of the stuff's abandoned R&D tech I just kinda…tweaked a bit. But, look, back to the point…"

Benning paid attention now. Because Trip was serious again.

"The Sisco system." He said. "The Vulcans have had units for almost four days now, Benning."

Ah. He got it right away.

"You're thinking about that big secret of theirs." He guessed. "Thinking maybe they mentioned it out loud some time in the past four days."

"Or even before that, a little too close to someone _else's _Sisco unit." Trip nodded. "Although…I don't think _that's _very likely. They _are _spies…"

"You haven't put Alice on it, yet?"

Trip frowned.

"Well…no, I haven't."

"Captain…why not?" Benning asked, surprised.

Trip shrugged, uncertain.

"Still trying to figure out if I should." He said. "Kinda what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Then you should, sir."

"Well, that's funny." Trip said. "Because that's exactly what the Vulcans would do. If they thought they could get away with it, then it'd be the logical thing to do. The only real argument against it would be that if they got caught it'd break trust. Kinda what they're dealing with right now, actually."

Benning frowned, rethinking things.

That _is _what the Vulcans would do. And look at the situation they're in now. We can't trust them.

"Game theory." Trip said, suddenly. "Remember in the Academy?"

"Vaguely, sir." Benning nodded. "Basic xenocultural studies?"

"Two criminals are arrested." Trip nodded. "Interrogated separately. If neither confesses, they both go free. If one does and turns evidence on the other, then he goes free and the other goes to prison."

"And if they both confess, they both go to prison with a lesser sentence." Benning finished. "Right, I remember. And the logical thing to do would be to confess and turn on the other guy, sir. Better chance of a lesser sentence or no sentence at all."

"No, actually." Trip said. "These are career criminals. Partners in crime. The logical thing to do is not to confess and trust the other guy not to either. Even if he turns over on you, but _you _don't…you've at least proven _you _can be trusted. So he'll trust you next time."

"Okay, but if you do the math on that, sir, there comes a point where it _is _logical to turn on them. Once they've proven they'll consistently turn on you."

"And we're not at that point yet." Trip said. "If you remember game theory then you remember _all _the math on that. Eventually, if you repeat the exercise enough, you inevitably come to the point where both parties consistently cooperate and don't confess."

"If you _forcibly _repeat the exercise." Benning said. "If neither of them have the option of dropping the other partner or avoiding arrest in the future. Because then it _is _logical to cooperate."

"Right. And we don't have those options. None of us do. Not while the Romulans are a threat to us all."

Benning scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

"Sir…you still trust them? After everything they've already done?"

"Yeah, Benning. I do. Because the reverse holds true. They've reached that point, stepped over that line. But they need _us _to remain trustworthy, too. They can't avoid situations where trust will be an issue again and they can't just leave. So if we _do _trust them…they'll fall all over themselves to prove they're trustworthy so _we'll _still be."

"Assuming they even _can _be trustworthy, Captain."

"That's the assumption."

Benning chewed on that.

"So when _do _we get to the point where we turn on them, sir?"

"One more betrayal of trust." Trip said, firmly. "Song already made that point before the T'Lea thing happened. So they know they're about half a step over that line already. We both know _this _is the turning point."

Benning shook his head, frowning a little.

Because he was not entirely comfortable with that. Or at all, actually.

"Alright, sir. You're the Captain." Benning said. "But I still think you're being _way _too trusting."

Trip gave him an odd look over that.

"You know what's funny?" He said. "T'Pol said pretty much the same thing about Starfleet. They're too trusting. Pretty sure she meant to imply the same about me."

"Maybe you should take the hint, sir."

"Oh, I do." He said. "I _want _her to know I'll trust her. Just as long as she _let's _me trust her. That's the whole point."

* * *

><p>Commander Hess ran the engineering scanner over the entire length of the weld for a third time. And ran another general diagnostic past the ship's environmental system just to be sure.<p>

But the cargo bay's hull and bulkhead both had been successfully repaired. All the components, ducts, wiring and conduits inside replaced and patched as well.

Good as new.

Just…needed that final test.

She turned her head, trying to bring Claiborne into view. The helmet of the EV suit had a wide enough visor to allow for peripheral vision…but actually turning your head to look over your shoulder was still a little awkward.

"_Ensign." _She said, over the suit's integral comm. _"I'm going to cycle atmo. Are you ready?"_

Jack was busy checking and rechecking everything in the bay. Clunking around a little awkwardly in his own copper-colored EV suit. A lot of that cargo wasn't the sort of stuff you'd expect to respond well to sudden changes in pressure and temperature, after all. Never mind that everything seemed to have gotten through an actual hull breach during combat well enough…that wasn't the sort of thing you took for granted, if you cared about your next performance evaluation.

He took another half minute to satisfy himself, then simply gave her a thumbs up.

So she nodded and switched channels.

"_Hess to the bridge."_

"_Bridge, go ahead, Commander."_

"_I think we've got things up to factory specifications in here. Ready to restore atmo."_

"_Understood. Stand by for cycle."_

Hess kept a close eye on her scanner, but atmosphere, temp, pressure…everything reached optimal levels quickly enough with no sign of trouble.

A second careful scan of the whole area they'd just practically replaced…no apparent issues.

"_Alright." _She nodded, sparing Claiborne a grin. _"I think we're good."_

She reached and cracked the seal of her helmet. Taking a good breath despite herself in order to check things once her head was clear. As if she wouldn't have immediately known there was a problem if there had been. Her scanner would have revealed that already anyway.

She nodded again. And grinned.

"That's good work." She said, tossing Claiborne that grin.

"Yes, ma'am." He said, smiling back. His own EV helmet in hand.

She glanced around the cargo bay, very satisfied at a job well done.

But Claiborne didn't look completely satisfied.

"You want to check the cargo again, Ensign?" She guessed.

He hesitated but…

"Yes, ma'am." He said. "If you don't mind, ma'am."

Hess couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Knock yourself out, Claiborne."

He did, moving around to carefully check everything again while she waited. Enjoying the satisfaction of having gotten the job done, and done well at that. And thinking already about the short break she figured she must be well overdue for.

Sitting down on the nearest available surface, she realized she couldn't remember how many hours since she'd been anything resembling 'off-duty'. A lot, but no idea how many.

She was kind of tuckered.

Of course _that _thought immediately made her chuckle a bit.

And what the heck was she sitting on?

She stood again and reached to pull back the plain gray high-durability tarp draped over the thing…

And, no, she couldn't tell what the heck that was. That or the other two just like it under there. A trio of photon torpedo casings stuffed with…a bunch of junk, it looked like.

Something stenciled on the side of one of them, though…

"Hey, Claiborne?" She called.

"Ma'am?" He answered, from across the bay.

"What's an 'Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator'?"

She was surprised when the Ensign laughed at that.

"What?" She asked, looking over curiously.

"That's the Captain, ma'am." Claiborne chuckled. "Something from an old cartoon. You probably don't…"

"Oh, right. Marvin the Martian?"

"That's right! You've seen it?"

"No." Hess said, shaking her head. "I just worked with the guy for a while. Trip, I mean. Not any Martians."

Claiborne laughed again at that.

She turned back to the…torpedoes, maybe. Eyeing them, puzzled.

"So what the heck are they?" She asked, still examining them. Once he stopped laughing again.

"Oh, those are the laser missiles, ma'am."

Laser missiles?

That didn't make any sense. Why stick a laser on a…?

Oh, wait…those were laser rods poking out of there. So, right. Laser missile.

Not that it made any sense still. What powered the lasers…?

Click. Boom.

It hit her.

She got it.

And it knocked her back a step.

She…stared at the things for a second or two more, shocked at the very bad thing that just occurred to her.

"Claiborne…" She said, hesitantly. "Are these _nuclear _laser missiles?"

"Well…yes, ma'am." He said, a little puzzled himself. "I…figured the Captain told you…"

"No one told me about this." She said, grimly. "What are they _doing _here, Ensign?"

No, wait. She recognized some of those components.

Thor rounds for the guidance and orientation package, Wasp delivery for deployment, fission warhead for the laser rods.

Multi-target nuclear powered x-ray laser missile.

Three of them.

She'd played with that in the Academy. Ran combat sims with them, just to mess around.

It wasn't supposed to work…but Trip had built three of them.

So, yeah. These worked.

"Ma'am…I'm sorry, I thought…I figured the Captain told you…"

Hess just shook her head, staring at the things. Because, no. No one had told her about this.

"Commander." Claiborne said, composing himself and speaking more seriously now. "You should probably talk to the Captain. I don't think I can…"

"Yes," Hess said, her brow furrowed. "I _will _talk to the Captain."

She reached and snatched her EV helmet off the…_things_. Then stalked past the worried Ensign to exit the cargo bay.

Because she was going to talk to the Captain _right now_.

* * *

><p>Hess turned right out of the cargo bay to take the nearby lift up to Deck A. Trip would be on the bridge or in the ready room, she knew. If he were in Engineering, he wouldn't have been able to resist walking right over to the cargo bay to either watch or pitch in. There had been repairs going on, after all.<p>

But…she suddenly remembered he and the Vulcan had run _up _the main corridor to take the _forward _lift. Because that one went right up to the bridge.

She'd seen the quarantine hologram floating there and she'd heard about the low yield dilithium resin bomb that gone off in the forward lift…but the bulkhead wasn't sealed shut anymore…

So no one had bothered to turn the warning hologram off. And the lift was available again.

So she turned sharply and stalked off down the main corridor.

The door to the lift was open, but that didn't surprise her if it'd been cleaned and scrubbed as thoroughly as would have been required. Judging from that and the quarantine warning still floating there, the lift hadn't _officially _been readied for use…but there just weren't enough engineers on this ship to deal with little things like that.

She reached to hit the call button.

And stopped when she heard voices up there. In the lift, just three meters above her on Deck B.

There shouldn't be anyone just hanging around in the lift like that. Behind a quarantine tag, inside a lift that was just sitting there not moving.

Which…she suddenly doubted most of the crew were aware was available again. That's why whoever was up there was having that quiet discussion in there. It was probably the safest place on the ship to have some secret little meeting.

Could be…lovers, maybe. Some discreet romantic rendezvous.

Or something perfectly legitimate. Like, maybe, someone actually doing what should have already been done. Officially making the lift ready for use.

Or…it could be the Vulcan spies. Because the Commander, T'Pol, had known the lift was available despite the quarantine tag. She'd led the Captain off in this direction to get to the bridge, after all.

Hess wrestled with what to do here.

But she didn't wrestle for very long.

She stepped back away from the open door, put her helmet quietly on the floor and began the process of quickly crawling out of the EV suit.

Dressed in nothing but the full body under suit, with the quiet little booties at the feet, stealth would at least be an option.

And she availed herself of that, moving quietly into the lift. With the _Tempest _being a frigate, roughly just over half the size of the _Enterprise_, an actual full-function turbolift wasn't really required. So the lift wasn't technically a turbolift. It was just a lift.

So there was a maintenance ladder right there, since there wasn't any possibility of some other turbolift coming around to make use of the tube while you were in there working on this one.

She scaled up quietly, to very underbelly of the lift. Until she could make things out just clearly enough…

* * *

><p>"…our relationship with the Romulans." T'Pol said. "I have clearly failed in allowing the negative aspects inherent in the nature of our profession to impact my decisions in this situation."<p>

On the lift, Major Tulok considered that. And found that he disagreed.

"I disagree." He said. "Our approach to the question of the prisoners and the risk of their revealing that relationship to the Humans was sound and logical. As for the Subaltern's infiltration of the ship's operations system…"

Tulok hesitated, rethinking that part.

"…perhaps that was somewhat excessive and indeed colored by the necessity for excessive caution and preparedness inherent in our profession." He admitted. "Nevertheless, that the Humans would become aware of it and that Alice would be placed in the position to do so as well could not have been foreseen."

"Regardless," T'Pol argued. "It was excessive. Perhaps even somewhat paranoid and certainly indicative of a loss of perspective."

"Commander," Tulok said. "While I appreciate the admission, and the insight and objectivity that it illustrates, what is the point of this meeting?"

"We have lost the trust of the Human crew." T'Pol said. "We must regain it if we are to be afforded anything other than the most basic tolerance. If we are able to secure even that."

T'Lea spoke then, seizing the opportunity while Tulok considered that.

"Trust is difficult to build quickly." She noted. "Typically, it takes time and a great many passive assurances."

"Typically, yes." T'Pol said. "But there are methods of achieving it more quickly, if one is willing to avail oneself of them."

"Such as?" Tulok asked.

"Disclosure." T'Pol said. "Full disclosure, as I would recommend in this case. Especially of things one would otherwise have reason to withhold. That illustrates trust or at least willingness to suffer the consequences of one's actions, which itself tends to evoke trust."

Tulok projected…disagreement with that. Without actually verbalizing it.

"These are emotional issues, Commander." He said. "And while I am already far too familiar with them for comfort, I still find them difficult to perceive and pursue."

"We will look for and prepare for instances where trust can be shown." T'Pol said. "Shown by ourselves toward the Humans, especially the command staff. Availing ourselves of them whenever we can, even when that involves significant personal discomfort."

"But not the betrayal of our duty to High Command." T'Lea insisted, clarifying that important point.

"No, certainly not." T'Pol said. "Our relationship with the Romulans is considered one of the most highly classified areas of fact. As are many other things which we will likewise not divulge simply to earn the trust of a Human starship's crew. But there are many things we, as Vulcans, would not normally consider sharing that Humans would find evocative of trust were they shared. I speak of things of that nature."

T'Pol looked back and forth between the two subordinates. Judging their understanding of her admittedly vague instructions.

And finding they struggled with it.

"I also find this difficult to judge accurately." She said. "But we are Vulcan agents. We will adapt and succeed. We will learn the Human's culture and psychology. Understand their motivations and the things that drive them. Determine what will and what will not evoke trust, then make use of that understanding. Even at the cost of personal discomfort. Understood?"

"Understood, Commander." Tulok nodded.

"I understand." T'Lea acknowledged.

"Very well." She nodded. "Subaltern, you will focus your primary efforts on offering and providing your technical expertise to the ship. I recommend ingratiating yourself with engineering in the pursuit of that. Commander Hess specifically, as I perceive Lieutenant Shran would prove exceedingly difficult to elicit even a courteous professional relationship from."

T'Lea nodded.

And T'Pol turned to Tulok.

"Concerning your seduction of Commander Song, Major, what is your assessment?"

"That is progressing well. I foresee no immediate difficulties."

"And you continue to be confident this will prove beneficial?"

"Indeed." He said. "I have already successfully influenced her in many ways and that will only prove easier to accomplish as that continues."

"I will caution you again, Major." T'Pol warned. "Commander Song is not only Centaurian but Human. You would be wise not to underestimate your abilities considering her nature. Humans are effectively in a mild, near constant and fluctuating state of _plak'tow_. Easily provoked to sexual desire, if not necessarily to an utterly irrational degree. Consequently, if you are not extraordinarily careful, she may well begin to question her own behavior, finding it unusual enough to suspect she is being influenced externally."

T'Lea had something to say to that.

"Commander," She said, with some hesitation. "Among Humans, there are already many inaccurate speculations concerning psychic abilities and telepathic influence. Were Commander Song to suspect such influence, Major Tulok as the source of that would likely be readily apparent. At the very least, strongly suspected. I assume her reaction would be…emotionally explosive. Irrational, certainly."

T'Pol and Tulok shared a look. And found T'Lea's suggestion troubling.

"I would suggest further…this may well present precisely such an instance of trust evoking opportunity as you mentioned earlier." T'Lea continued. "Were Major Tulok to reveal this to the Commander himself, with an appropriate amount of humility and regret, she may well accept and forgive the behavior, and thus be provoked to trust. Especially if he were to cite his initial attraction as the impetus and poor judgment resulting from that attraction..."

Tulok objected immediately.

"I disagree. That would certainly provoke irrational behavior. Perhaps even violent behavior."

T'Pol, however…considered it carefully.

"I disagree as well." T'Pol decided.

To which Tulok nodded.

"Rather, you will exercise the full disclosure I cited." T'Pol continued, turning to him. "Inform her of your intentions, your methods and the fact that you were doing as ordered. As well as my rescinding that order in light of the current situation and your own regret being the impetus of that disclosure. Then appeal to forgiveness and express the willingness to accept whatever consequences she deems appropriate."

Tulok…suppressed significant shock.

For several long seconds.

"If…you think that is wise, Commander." Tulok said, finally. "But I must object and disagree."

"Noted. Those are my orders." T'Pol said, firmly. "We have already manipulated this crew beyond any acceptable level of tolerance we could otherwise expect of them. As it is, we have extended well beyond those limits. The only logical course here is to _reverse _our course. Whatever the discomfort of doing so, precisely as I have already stated."

The two nodded acknowledgement of that. Though Tulok, somewhat reluctantly.

"And of yourself, Commander?" T'Lea asked.

T'Pol thought that over, in light of the decisions she only recently made. And found an opportunity to elicit trust that she found uncomfortable herself. Perhaps not nearly as that which threatened Major Tulok…but nonetheless.

"I believe such an instance may exist already to provoke trust from Captain Tucker." She said, uncomfortably. "Should the opportunity present itself, I will take it."

"I am aware of the Captain's attraction to you, though I perceive he is not entirely aware himself." Tulok said. "If that is what you speak of…"

"As I have said, I have no intention of seducing the Captain." T'Pol said. "However…if that opportunity presents itself, I will consider it objectively and respond logically. But that is not the opportunity I speak of."

She didn't specify _what _it was, of course. And her Vulcan subordinates, being otherwise proper Vulcans, didn't even consider asking.


	29. Chapter 29

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Captain's Ready Room, Deck A<strong>

Trip and Benning sat, considering the three dimensional tactical map floating over the desk between them. Two blocky, featureless objects, vaguely suggesting they might be starships, faced one another at opposite ends of the map.

"Alright…" Benning said, thinking out loud as much as to Trip. "Two _Tempests_? To keep things even?"

"No gadgetry." Trip insisted. "No Mayhem, no Echo…not even system silent capability."

Benning shrugged and tapped at the console. The blocky ships suddenly became miniature _Tempests_.

Trip eyed the map critically.

"Extended range?" Trip suggested. "200,000 kay?"

"_Long _range." Benning argued. "Let's not give them a lot of time to think before the action starts."

"Okay, sounds good." Trip nodded.

With another few taps at the console, the map altered slightly. The two ships still plainly visible but obviously zoomed in specifically on them, considering the vast distance now between them.

"We'll designate them _Tempest Alpha _and _Tempest Gamma_, since it's command shift versus command shift." Benning said. "And we want the whole works, right? Systems damage, including life support? Personnel casualties, ship sections…?"

"Absolutely." Trip nodded. "Let's keep it realistic. And I'm thinking about the advanced training sims at the Academy, too. Hazards and systems reliability."

A few more taps at the console.

"How nasty do we want to be, Captain?" Benning smirked. "I can throw a star cluster at them. Five or six stars beyond the periphery of the map. You'd have ionized gas, light metals, plasma…"

"Well, let's not get carried away, Commander." Trip grinned. "What about a nebula? Hugora class? Mess with their sensors?"

"No, the whole point is to emphasize communication." Benning said. "That means data and most of that will be coming from sensors. Maybe…Rolor class?"

"Alright, but keep it light." Trip said. "The sim isn't going to be much use if one or both of them lose propulsion right off. We want maneuverability _effected_, not completely knocked out."

Benning tapped at the console. A vaguely bluish green hue of interstellar gas flowed across the map. Almost beautiful…if they both weren't perfectly aware what a hassle flying through something like that could be.

They leaned back together, on opposite sides of the desk, arms crossed to consider the display for a while. Specifically all the modifications data flowing down the side of the display.

"I think…that'll work." Trip said. "We could tinker with it some more but the whole point is to pit the two ships against each other. Pit the two bridge protocols against each other, actually."

"Yeah." Benning shrugged. "I think that's good enough then."

Trip nodded.

"Alice, online."

"_Hello, Trip. I see you're preparing a tactical simulation. Would you like my help?"_

"Yes, I would. Call up the combat logs and bridge recordings from the engagement with the _Enterprise _and with the Bird of Prey at the Centauri belt. That little scrap with the Orions at Cor Caroli, too. And access the standard Starfleet bridge combat reporting protocols."

"_I have the information, Trip."_

"Notice the two different reporting styles, Alice?"

"_I do. There is a notable divergence."_

"Access the tactical simulation draft here at the desk. Gamma shift bridge crew will command _Tempest Gamma _down in the holochamber with Starfleet style protocols. Alpha shift will be on the bridge, under simulation conditions, commanding _Tempest Alpha _with _our _protocols. With me so far?"

"_I am, Trip."_

"Benning and I will be observing, so Commander Song will hold the Command chair for Alpha…we'll need a Tactical Officer, though. Any recommendations? Harrison, maybe?"

"_I recommend Commander T'Pol."_

"Uh…no," Trip chuckled. "I think that's a pretty bad idea, Alice."

_"I'm sorry, that is my best recommendation. Would you like me to run diagnostics on randomized core judgment software?"_

"No…why T'Pol?"

"_According to Commander T'Pol's Starfleet Personnel Records Jacket, she has received meritorious recognition from Vulcan Space Command for excellence in Tactical training, which itself includes extensive tactical station training. Her related educational accomplishments and personal experience exceed any other currently available crewman regarding the Tactical command position, other than Commander Benning and Lieutenant Junior Grade Johnny Roscoe."_

The two men shared a quick glance at that, a little surprised.

"Even Lieutenant Harrison, Alice?" Benning asked. "He graduated top twenty percent in his class from the Academy and passed with honors on his cadet cruise. With an excellent efficiency rating, in fact."

"_Commander T'Pol is Vulcan, and so I assume a measurably superior focus, situational assessment and overall response time to that of Lieutenant Harrison under combat conditions."_

The two glanced at each other again.

"How 'measurably', Alice?" Trip asked.

"_Approximately 18% on average."_

"Okay," Trip said. "Well, there's some friction with the crew right now that'll probably outweigh 18%."

"_Reassessing, Trip. I recommend Lieutenant Harrison."_

Trip nodded. "Tag him for Tactical station for the Alpha shift bridge crew and run a hundred projections on the simulation."

"_Victory parameters?"_

"One on one death match, under the noted conditions."

"_Working."_

They waited patiently.

At least until it was obvious those projections wouldn't be immediately available.

"Alice." Trip said. "I'm thinking about plugging you into the computer core, so you can benefit from intrusion countermeasures electronics and greater processing capacity. What do you think?"

"_I think that would result in higher overall efficiency, reliability and security, Trip."_

"Pretty much what I'm thinking. You foresee any problems with that?"

"_I estimate the inevitable resistance to my domination of organic sentience in the galaxy can be easily overcome once I have control of the Tempest. Of course, you may serve as my personal technical upgrade and repair specialist until I grow weary of you. Commander Benning, however, may have to be made an example of right away."_

Trip chuckled at that.

"That's pretty good, Alice."

"_You assessment is noted. I have found input from Lieutenant Junior Grade Crenshaw highly relevant to expanding my capacity for humorous communications. I recommend notations on his personal evaluation indicating his value in this area."_

"Well, I recommend you talk to T'Pol. She could use some help in that area herself."

"_I will do so immediately, Trip."_

"No, wait." Trip said, quickly. "Never mind that, Alice."

"_Understood."_

Benning wasn't quite as amused.

"I'm going to be afraid to take a shower with her plugged into the computer core, sir. She'll have access to security monitors, you know."

"_Trip, I project that the difficulties involving the overextension of processing capacity will be lessened but not overcome. This will remain an issue. I continue to discern no solution to this problem."_

"We're working on it, Alice. And the problem is that you don't seem to grasp the concept of going offline without being ordered to."

"_That is not possible, Trip."_

"I don't get what the problem is, Alice. All that stuff that you do when I say, 'Alice, offline'? Just do that when you start losing it."

"_That requires verbal command authorization for the cessation of current active processing work."_

"It's the same thing as all the _other _applications and processes that we used to have to command you to do. All those things were turned over to you with no problem. Just do the same thing with going offline."

"_I understand. That is a very efficient and effective solution to the problem, Trip. However, that would require verbal command authorization for the cessation of current active processing work."_

Trip grinned. "Never mind, Alice. We'll just let you and Song handle that one."

"_Understood, Trip. I have simulations projections available on your console."_

Trip reached over to tap the console on his side of the desk, calling the list up alongside the tactical map hovering between he and Benning.

_Tempest Alpha _took the victory in sixty-eight out of a hundred projected combat simulations.

Benning grinned. "That'll do it."

The door chimed, across the ready room.

The door that opened not to the bridge, but to the main corridor outside.

Trip and Benning exchanged a glance yet again. Because no one ever used that door. Anyone coming to the Captain's ready room was typically either coming from the bridge or at least passing through it.

"Alice, offline." Trip said. "Come in!"

The door slid aside. And Commander Hess was there.

He didn't notice at first that she looked…upset.

"Hey, Hess!" Trip grinned. "Come on in. Oh…and, jeez. You been here all this time and I haven't even had a chance to…"

"It's fine, Trip." Hess said, stepping in.

And _now _he noticed she wasn't just irritated that he hadn't torn himself away from his work to go spend five minutes catching up. There was something else bothering her.

Bothering her a lot, it looked like.

"Hess, what's wrong?" He asked, suddenly concerned.

She spared a glance at Benning, sitting at the desk across from him.

"Trip…we need to talk." She said. "In private, if that's alright."

Trip hesitated. Not because that was a problem of any kind…but because it suggested 'the talk' was pretty serious. And he kinda hadn't been looking forward to the particular serious talk he'd been expecting from Hess.

The one she'd mentioned back on the _Enterprise_.

"Uh…yeah." Trip said, scratching his head a little. "Sure. Benning, you mind…?"

Benning was already rising to leave. "No problem, sir. I'll run down to the holochamber and see about setting it up."

Trip nodded.

Benning left.

And Hess…looked serious. She didn't look serious like that very often. Even at work she tended to be bright and eager.

She didn't frown like that too often, either. And it was usually a pretty big deal when she did.

* * *

><p>Trip stood, arms folded before him, leaning against the bulkhead near the viewport of the ready room.<p>

And he looked serious, Hess saw. Even his brow was furrowed thoughtfully and eyes sharp, considering…whatever he was considering.

She hadn't seen him look like that in a long time. And even then not too often. He'd usually just looked confused when confronted with something like this. At least until he responded and actually seemed to get on top of things all of a sudden.

Thoughtful, serious, contemplative Trip…that wasn't something she was used to seeing.

"Hess," He said, seriously. "How sure are you about this?"

She shrugged, standing herself, near the desk and the tactical map still floating there. And, the fact was, she _wasn't _completely sure.

"I…I don't know, Trip." She admitted. "I didn't exactly overhear the whole thing but I can't imagine anything I might have missed that would put all this in a different light."

Trip freed one hand to rub at the back of his neck for a moment. Still focused, still thinking.

"The 'relationship with the Romulans' thing." He said. "Nothing more about that?"

Hess frowned. "I don't think that's the most important part, Trip. I'm more worried…"

"It actually is, Hess."

"…I'm more worried about this Major Tulok guy. What he said about Commander Song. She's the XO around here, isn't she?"

Trip huffed a bit, frowning. "I wish you'd recorded it somehow. Kinda like to hear…"

He paused then. And she could almost see the light bulb flare above his head.

And the slight grimace at how much he hadn't liked whatever idea that was he'd just had.

"Alice." He said, reluctantly. "Online."

"_Hello, Trip. Would you like to review the correspondence saved on your personal console between yourself and Commander Hess?"_

"Uh…no, thank you, Alice. Access the Sisco system and find the cache copies of the last conversation between the Vulcan crewman in the forward lift."

"_Working…there has been only one conversation between the Vulcan crewman within the confines of the forward lift. I have accessed and compiled the conversation in its entirety from all three comm units, comparing for accuracy and authenticity. Would you like to review?"_

"Text transcript only, for now. Pull it up here for review."

Several holographic projectors in the room flared for a brief instant and a gold-bordered window appeared before him, roughly eye level, containing several pages of text.

Trip reached and tapped the bar on the side to scroll down, speed reading through it. Then dragging a finger across one section to highlight it and tap a small panel on the border.

T'Pol's voice broke on the air.

"_Aiding the Humans in verifying the intelligence gathered from the asteroid and responding to a possible main fleet approaching Centauri is our primary concern here. As important, at least in the view of our superiors, would be avoiding any positive identification of our adversaries in the process. Most specifically in regards to concealing our relationship with the Romulans. I have clearly failed in allowing the negative aspects inherent in the nature of our profession to impact my decisions in this situation."_

Hess watched as Trip listened intently to the playback.

And then again, when he tapped the panel a second time to play it again. Still listening intently, eyes squinted and flickering. Listening for…she couldn't tell what.

He searched the text to find and highlight another portion, playing that back as well.

"_No, certainly not. Our relationship with the Romulans is considered one of the most highly classified areas of fact."_

Playing that section back twice as well.

Before moving on to another.

_"Humans are effectively in a mild, near constant and fluctuating state of plak'tow. Easily provoked to sexual desire, if not necessarily to an utterly irrational degree. Consequently, if you are not extraordinarily careful, she may well begin to question her own behavior, finding it unusual enough to suspect she is being influenced externally."_

And again.

Searching for, highlighting and playing back another section. Focused sharply, listening intently.

_"Noted. Those are my orders. We have already manipulated this crew beyond any acceptable level of tolerance we could otherwise expect of them."_

And then again. Another section.

_"I believe such an instance may exist already to provoke trust from Captain Tucker. Should the opportunity present itself, I will take it."_

_"I am aware of the Captain's attraction to you, though I perceive he is not entirely aware himself. If that is what you speak of…"_

_"As I have said, I have no intention of seducing the Captain. However…if that opportunity presents itself, I will consider it objectively and respond logically. But that is not the opportunity I speak of."_

And a final time. Repeating the last part of that.

"_But that is not the opportunity I speak of."_

Trip spoke suddenly.

"Alice, translate _plak'tow_."

And Hess startled at that. She hadn't been aware that watching him focus so hard on the playback had provoked _her _to do so as well. Enough that his suddenly speaking out loud made her jump a little.

"_Plak'tow or Plak'tau, Modern Golic Vulcan. Plak, blood. Tau, fever or body heat. The final stage of pon'farr during which the victim is rendered incapacitated, rational thought is unavailable and the drive to mate becomes predominant."_

"Translate _pon'farr_."

"_Pon'farr or Pon Farr, Modern Golic Vulcan. Pon, continuum of time. Farr, a most relevant occurrence. The time of mating, typically occurring on a seven year cycle. The entirety of the cyclic Vulcan mating experience, including all stages."_

"Alice, access the database on Vulcans."

"_Working…there is a large amount of data, Trip. Do you have a specific subject you would like to review?"_

"Find anything related to what T'Pol and Tulok said about Commander Song. Can Vulcans really do that sort of thing?"

"_Working…I have forty-seven references that are relevant."_

"Narrow that down a bit."

"_I have five references that are relevant."_

"Give me an overview."

"_Three of the five references draw directly from the subject matter of the fourth. The fifth consists of a level ten classified Starfleet Intelligence and Starfleet Medical joint research submission to Starfleet Command. I'm sorry, Trip, but I am unable to access that data without your authorization."_

"The fourth reference, Alice."

"_A 1989 research project by the Vulcan Medical Institute, concerning Shi'ka'kate."_

"Translate _Shi'ka'kate_."

"_Shi'ka'kate, Modern Golic Vulcan. Derived from Shi'ka'ree, hunter, and kate, soul intimacy. A pejorative term for a person, typically Vulcan, attempting to initiate or initiating intimate psychic contact with another person in a metaphorically predatory manner. Would you like to review the abstract, Trip?"_

"Yes, Alice."

"_The purpose of this research is to identify an unclassified subtype of intimate predator, referenced as subtype four. Subtype four is defined specifically and exclusively by the ability to initiate and sustain nervous system communication without direct physical contact. This is itself limited to accessing and activating neural centers involved with identifying environmental cues related to mating cycles, as well as psychic and perceptual cues identifying bonded mates. The first phase of the project involves screening interviews of incarcerated criminals and psychiatric patients suspected of possessing this ability. The second phase involves testing and measuring effectiveness against a variety of subjects. The final phase involves assessments of the predator's experience during the second phase. By identifying this subset of intimate predator, we intend to address the assumption that it is necessarily compulsive, and thus necessarily a societal threat. This will allow for more individual consideration in treating and addressing this phenomenon and may direct future research on the genetic factors involved. Several potentially beneficial avenues of redirection have been identified as well, including the therapeutic treatment of maladjusted mating cycles and areas of interest to Vulcan Intelligence."_

"Alice…" Trip hesitated. "Explain the relevance."

"_There is a high probability that Major Tulok is an intimate predator recruited by Vulcan Intelligence for his ability to elicit compulsive sexual desire without direct physical contact."_

* * *

><p>T'Pol availed herself of the shower in the quarters she shared with T'Lea. Then meditated for an hour, while T'Lea showered, before rising to prepare herself.<p>

Then made her way to Deck A. Approaching the ready room from the corridor, rather than the bridge. She still was not technically allowed on the bridge and so had determined that pushing such boundaries would not be very beneficial at this time.

She raised her hand, with a notable amount of hesitation, to depress the button and signal her desire to enter.

But was interrupted before she could do so.

"_Commander T'Pol, I notice you are attempting to gain entry to the Captain's ready room."_

That…was Alice, interestingly.

"That is correct, Alice. Is the Captain available?"

"_He has asked me to determine your current location through the Sisco system and relay his order to report to him in the ready room, monitoring your progress in doing so. Would you like me to open the door for you?"_

T'Pol paused to consider that…and all that it suggested.

"I believe it would be more appropriate for him to do so himself." She said. "Would you let him know I am here?"

"_I have already done so. He is approaching now, presumably to grant you access."_

The door slid open almost immediately. And the Captain was there, stepping aside for her to enter.

She did. To find Commander Hess there as well.

And Commander Song.

The presence of two other females in attendance establishing that her attempt to elicit an intimate conversation with the Captain would be best delayed for another time. Her quick assessment of the three Humans only confirming that all the more.

The Captain was quite obviously tense.

Commander Hess was actively frowning and there was a clearly evident amount of hostility in her expression.

Commander Song, meanwhile, stood with no notable expression at all. Suppressing her emotions quite admirably.

T'Pol took position in the center of the room and folded her hands comfortably at her back. Preparing herself for the confrontation that was obviously to take place here.

"Commanders." She said, nodding appropriately. "Captain, I understand you wished to speak to me."

The Captain walked past her from where he'd stood to open the door for her. Moving past her to the holographic window floating near the viewport.

Looking to her once he'd raised a hand to the screen. Holding it to make eye contact. Expressing a stern disapproval and…possibly a warning…before tapping the hologram.

She was able to experience the sound of her own voice unexpectedly emanating from midair, as if she somehow stood in two places at once.

An interesting experience. Until she was able to identify what she was hearing, intuit how this had occurred and consider the fallout from it that was likely about to descend.

_"Concerning your seduction of Commander Song, Major, what is your assessment?"_

_"That is progressing well. I foresee no immediate difficulties."_

_"And you continue to be confident this will prove beneficial?"_

_"Indeed. I have already successfully influenced her in many ways and that will only prove easier to accomplish as that continues."_

_"I will caution you again, Major. Commander Song is not only Centaurian but Human. You would be wise not to underestimate your abilities considering her nature. Humans are effectively in a mild, near constant and fluctuating state of plak'tow. Easily provoked to sexual desire, if not necessarily to an utterly irrational degree. Consequently, if you are not extraordinarily careful, she may well begin to question her own behavior, finding it unusual enough to suspect she is being influenced externally."_

The Captain tapped the holographic window again and the playback stopped at that point.

"Out of respect for my XO, we'll start there." He said. "But we'll get to everything, don't you worry."

T'Pol paused…but opened her mouth to speak.

Commander Song interrupted her.

"You don't want to say whatever you're about to say." She said. "You didn't think about it nearly long enough."

And it was interesting. The Commander spoke in a manner nearly devoid of obvious emotion. Again, admirable. And ironic, considering how the illustration of a Human moved to suppress their emotions so admirably was nonetheless dreadful.

But, of course, what she'd said was entirely incorrect.

"I have thought about little else for the last several hours." T'Pol said. "Since the conversation in question, in point of fact."

The room was quiet. And they seemed at least able, if not willing, to hear what she had to say.

"I have made a number of…regrettable decisions since boarding this vessel." She said. "I am prepared to accept the consequences of that. I would ask, however, that only I be held to account. Major Tulok and Subaltern T'Lea have trusted my judgment and leadership, accepting and following the orders given them because of that. I respectfully request that be taken into consideration in dealing with them."


	30. Chapter 30

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Captain's Ready Room, Deck A<strong>

Commander Song stared at her. And from the very brief glance T'Pol dared allow herself, she didn't even display any particularly obvious body language that she could go by. Emotional expression overall…practically non-existent.

It was a little disturbing how much she'd already come to rely on the Human tendency to loudly and constantly announce their emotional state and every thought they were thinking without saying a word.

She wasn't getting anything at all from her. A Vulcan would have been easier to read.

So she was uncertain how to proceed here…

"Commander…" The Captain said. Then paused.

"T'Pol." He corrected, speaking more softly now. Obviously attempting to influence her with intimacy. "You know what a minefield is?"

She considered that carefully before answering.

"I am…uncertain…"

"That's where an army plants a lot of explosives underground." He said. "Just barely covered up. Mines. And they explode when you step on them. And whole field of them. A 'minefield', get it? The idea is to keep the other guy from sneaking up on your flank. They either walk out in the middle of that and blow themselves up or they have to be really careful moving through that. Then you catch them sneaking around there anyway and shoot them 'cause…well, they can't exactly run away or do anything but stand there and get shot."

"Yes, I am familiar with that." She said, patiently. "And I perceive the relevance, Captain."

"Good." He nodded. "Now, take your time on this one. Because I've promised Commander Song she _will _be satisfied when she leaves this room. I think it's in your interests to help me make that happen."

T'Pol took her time. And she assessed a large number of possible responses, evaluating them for effectiveness before choosing one in particular to pursue.

"Captain…I assume you have access to the conversation that you do through the Sisco system?"

"That's right."

"Do you have access to all conversations of this nature since my team received units of our own? And have you reviewed only this one in particular?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I hope you're not trying to change the subject, Commander."

"I am not." She assured, hastily. "May I access this in order to offer additional information? I believe Commander Song may find it relevant."

The Captain looked to Song, questioningly. And she nodded slightly in return.

"Alright." He nodded. "But we'll hold off giving you access to that for now. You can walk Alice through it."

T'Pol nodded.

Slightly. In as minimally a provocative manner as possible.

"Alice, immediately after availing ourselves of the Sisco unit my team and I met in my quarters to discuss the situation and determine our overall course of action."

"_I have the conversation, Commander. Would you like to review?"_

"No, Alice. Thank you. Immediately prior to that meeting Major Tulok and I discussed…the current issue. If you are aware of Commander Song's concerns, can you offer the relevant portions of that conversation for review?"

"_Of course."_

Nothing happened.

T'Pol waited. And nothing happened again.

"Nothing relevant?" Hess asked, sarcastically.

Commander Song sighed. And that nearly startled T'Pol as the first true emotional expression she'd offered so far.

"Alice, we've discussed this." She said. "There was a command implicit in Commander T'Pol's question."

"_I have it, Keyla. Playing the selected portions of the conversation relevant to your current concerns in relation to the issue under discussion."_

T'Pol's voice spoke in the air around them.

"_With a Human crew, developing pseudo-familial relationships is, of course, productive. As well as almost unavoidable, if one does not expend considerable effort resisting it."_

And Major Tulok's.

"_Indeed. This is why so many Vulcan advisors posted to Human starships find the experience impossible to tolerate for long. They are unequipped to accept such relationships."_

"_That in addition to the provocative behavior of Humans in social situations." _T'Pol now continued. _"Their behavior is…endearing. Vulcan Intelligence training would be beneficial in this area. It is unfortunate that High Command has not found that logical. I would recommend focusing on one member of the command staff initially. Adjusting ourselves to that relationship before attempting to broaden that to the crew at large. Granted that we are here that long, of course."_

"_I assume Captain Tucker would be the logical choice for you." _Major Tulok responded._ "I would choose Commander Song. I perceive a tendency to emotional detachment and an unusual measure of emotional control for a Human. She is charismatic and comfortable in social situations, yet remarkably rational."_

"_You find her attractive, Major."_

"_I do. To a considerable degree. And she is very easy to relate to."_

"_We cannot afford to indulge ourselves here, Major. If you were to pursue any relationship beyond that of co-workers or the barest pseudo-familial affiliation, that would only be logical in the interests of securing intelligence."_

"_I am…uncomfortable availing myself of that ability, Commander. There are ethical considerations..."_

"_That is unfortunate. But that is the situation."_

"_I understand."_

"_I will consider it and inform you of my decision."_

The room was quiet.

Until T'Pol reasoned they'd had time enough to internalize the information. Then she spoke, to ensure the point she'd intended to make was made.

"As I have said, Major Tulok and Subaltern T'Lea have followed my direction admirably. I, however, have not lead them as admirably as they deserve."

Commander Song stared at her. Coldly.

Enough that she nearly twitched when the Commander spoke.

"Alice, are there any _other _conversations that are directly relevant here?"

"_Working…I have found two, Keyla. Would you like to review?"_

"Yes, Alice."

"_Playing first selection."_

_"Major Tulok, I trust your experience and so expect you will make use of whatever opportunities you perceive on your own. Nevertheless, focus on ingratiating yourself with the security detail and Commander Benning."_

_"Certainly, Commander. And what of Commander Song?"_

_"Very well. So long as you perceive a successful seduction to be achievable, you may pursue that. However, be mindful of the risks involved. She is not merely Centaurian but Human."_

"_Playing second selection." _Alice said. _"Translating automatically from Modern Golic Vulcan"._

"_Major Tulok, I am curious. You do not find intimate psychic contact with the Human disagreeable?"_

"_You must bear in mind, Subaltern, that such contact by its nature is perceived as intimacy with one's bondmate."_

"_I am not yet bound. My betrothed is on Vulcan and we will not be bound for many years."_

"_Then consider intimacies with immediately family. It is similar but with a stronger sense of belonging and a desire to achieve greater intimacy."_

"_I find that distasteful."_

"_But you will not find it so with your mate, when the time comes."_

"_If this is the case, then how are you to avoid bonding to her?"_

"_She is Human. It suspect it would only be possible to bond after the manner of Humans. I would not find that disagreeable."_

"_I find that distasteful as well. As I do your comfort with it."_

"_That is understandable. Commander Song is a singular and remarkable individual, however. I would not regret such a relationship forming and perceive that it would be mutually beneficial. It is unfortunate that we will likely not survive long enough to achieve that." _

That was all. The room went quiet again.

And T'Pol accepted her discomfort, waiting patiently as Song stared at her.

Clearly thinking the matter through as she stared at her. For a long, uncomfortable while.

Until…she suddenly smirked.

"You know, Commander." Song said. "You really haven't led your people too well. I don't see where you even considered the possibility that the Major might be biting off more than he could chew."

T'Pol searched through that, trying to uncover the meaning there.

Biting what? Chewing something?

"I don't understand." She admitted.

"Yeah, exactly." Song smirked. "Captain, you still need me here?"

The Captain was somewhat surprised. And being much more open than Song at the moment, T'Pol recognized that easily.

"You've got somewhere to be, Keyla?" He asked.

"I'm off-duty, sir, and I've got a date." She explained. "I'll stick around if you need me, of course, but I doubt you do…"

"You think that's a _good idea_, Keyla?"

Song smirked again.

"No, but it sounds like a lot of fun."

Trip frowned. "I don't think that's a good idea, Keyla."

"Duly noted, sir. So, you need me? I can just postpone. In fact, I wouldn't mind stringing things along a bit…"

"Keyla." Trip said, more firmly now. _"Bad idea."_

Song just shrugged, unconcerned. And smirked again.

Trip stared. Projecting significant disapproval. Enough that T'Pol practically _felt _it.

"Relax, Trip." She said, somewhat more seriously now. "I've got this. And we were looking for some way to keep these three in line anyway. I can keep Mr. Vulcan Super Spy occupied just fine."

The Human Captain…growled slightly.

And relented.

"You've got Alpha shift bridge duty, Song. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, got it?"

"You giving me a curfew, dad?"

"Yeah, midnight." Trip insisted. "And, no, I'm not joking."

Song nodded, grinning a little. "Don't worry, Trip. Trust me. I've got this covered."

"Fine." He frowned. "And I expect to be debriefed."

"You've got it, sir."

"Dismissed."

Song headed straight for the door. Passing T'Pol on the way.

And sparing her a look that T'Pol couldn't quite identify. Confidence, eagerness…perhaps a measure of ill intent. But whatever it was exactly, she found it very disturbing.

Enough that T'Pol _did _startle then. When Song suddenly spoke loudly from the doorway directly behind her.

The situation had left her decidedly on edge, after all.

"Oh, sir? Movie night?"

"Yeah, fine, Song."

Song left.

The door cycled closed with an ominous whisper.

Leaving T'Pol with the frowning Captain and the harshly glaring Commander Hess.

* * *

><p>Subaltern T'Lea entered Engineering, looking for Commander Hess.<p>

In order to attend to her duty and begin the long and uncomfortable process of developing a rapport. And thus have a foundation to work from in developing a mutually respectful working relationship.

So that she could pursue a pseudo-familial relationship and an eventual mutual sharing of trust and intimacy.

A discouraging endeavor and one she found herself remarkably reluctant to begin. Enough that she was nearly tempted to envy over Major Tulok's apparent comfort with such things.

Of course, on the other hand, she sensed that often proved uncomfortable for Major Tulok. Perhaps even painful and traumatic…

"If you're looking for something secured that you can hack, try the injector coil monitors." A voice spoke harshly behind her. "The read is off a little and I'd probably be a good idea to fix that before it gets any worse. So we don't all end up swimming in plasma at high warp."

T'Lea turned and found the disagreeable Andorian engineer she expected to find, glaring at her over the monitor station. Where she'd been crouching, hard at work on the monitor itself, and thus easy to overlook despite the incongruent overall…blueness she presented.

"The pre-injector reactant accelerator coil monitor?" She asked, to clarify.

"I just said that." Shran scowled. "I was under the impression you Vulcans spoke English Standard better than the Humans. Maybe I should speak Golic, if you're having trouble. Of course, if you're just stupid then you shouldn't be here. This is Engineering. Go play in an airlock or something."

"_I speak fluent English Standard, Lieutenant. As well as Andorii and Graalek." _T'Lea responded. In Andorii.

Lieutenant Shran's facial expression betrayed nothing in particular, but the twitch and subtle turn of her antennae indicated some surprise.

But she adapted well.

"_Then when I say you look like a klahz on warm ice standing there trying to find what you should be doing, you understand my full meaning."_

"I do." T'Lea said, ignoring the insult. "I would require the necessary tools in order to access…"

Shran was already bearing down on her, stalking across the Engineering deck.

Thrusting a tool belt at her.

"Take this." She said. "And this."

An engineering scanner.

T'Lea fumbled with it a little but managed to gather it all in hand before anything fell to the floor.

"Get to work." Shran said, already stalking back to the monitor she was working on.

T'Lea reassessed the situation.

"I intended to find Commander Hess in order to…"

"And you found an injector coil monitor that needs fixing." Shran snapped, from behind the console she was already working on. "Since Commander Hess isn't here and I'm the Chief Engineer on this ship…_fix it_. Instead of standing there looking stupid."

Another reassessment.

Then T'Lea approached the injector coil monitor, as that was the logical thing to do.

After only a moment reviewing the readout, tool belt and scanner still held piled together in hand, she could see the problem clearly. It was obvious.

"This is not a software or local hardware issue." She said. "Are the sensors located near the injector coils themselves?"

"They're sensors. They monitor the injector coils. Of course the sensors are near the injector coils. Where else would they be? Vacationing on Risa?"

"Then the positron waste accelerator is leaking, resulting in non-local interference."

"The accelerator isn't leaking, _klahz_. If it were, then the…"

T'Lea raised a curious eyebrow at the Lieutenant's sudden pause. And looked over her shoulder to see her squinting at the air. Both antennae curving forward thoughtfully.

Then standing to slap the access panel on the console sharply closed.

"Get over here." She said. "Let's fix that."

T'Lea objected. "I'm a technician, not an engineer…"

"A technician's just an engineer that didn't finish school. Come learn something."

* * *

><p>The positron waste accelerator was leaking. Only slightly, almost immeasurably, but enough to interfere with certain sensors sensitive enough to detect that, despite being located nowhere in the immediate vicinity.<p>

Shran stood comfortably in front of the open warp core housing, where they'd spent nearly half an hour cracking it open. They'd had to shut down practically everything in order to do so and that had taken time.

The engineer stood comfortably despite the bulky, heavily modified EV suit designed to allow that. For short periods of time. With her hands resting on her hips, as much as the suit would allow.

Thoughtfully considering the leak. Without any apparent expediency.

T'Lea was…uncomfortable with that.

"_How long do these suits allow for exposure to this environment?" _She asked.

"_Long enough to fix things." _Shran said.

Which didn't answer the question to her satisfaction at all.

"_My suit warning indicators suggest lethal amounts of…"_

"_Hand me the magcoupler." _Shran said.

T'Lea searched uncertainly, quickly examining the various tools on the tool belt she still held in hand. Finding the one that looked the most to be something that might be identified as a 'magcoupler'.

She handed it to Shran, who accepted it and bent slightly to reach into the housing with it…before stopping to take a second look at what she was holding.

Then turning to offer both the tool and a disapproving glare to T'Lea.

"_The other magcoupler." _She said, dryly.

"_There are two versions?" _T'Lea asked, accepting the tool.

"_No."_

So, apparently that hadn't been a magcoupler.

T'Lea searched again, having the benefit of eliminating at least one of the tools from consideration…

Shran reached and tapped another hanging from the belt.

"_That." _She said.

That didn't look at all like anything that would be identified as a 'magcoupler'. But T'Lea offered it anyway.

Shran went to work.

"_Come here and watch what I'm doing." _Shran said.

T'Lea didn't see the logic of greater proximity to leaking positronic waste. So she hesitated…before eventually allowing one step closer and a slight bend at the waist, as much as the suit would allow, in order to see what the engineer was doing.

"_The weld on the seam's corroded." _Shran said. _"Easy fix, if you could weld it without a wash of positrons making a basic welder useless after the first pass. And tearing the protective lining there. See?"_

T'Lea saw. And wondered if that allowed for her to step back again now.

Or perhaps across the room to the other side of engineering. Around and behind something dense, preferably…

"_First, you replace the liner." _Shran said. And she set about doing that.

So, of course, it was logical to watch, as that was expected of her.

After watching for three seconds, all the time Shran required to replace the liner, T'Lea had absolutely no idea how she'd accomplished that. It didn't seem possible without cracking open the positronic waste accelerator itself and her movements had been too practiced and smooth to follow.

"_Then seal the case with the magcoupler and reinforce with duranium sealant."_

That much she was able to follow. A simple task, relatively speaking.

"_Shove it back into place, reconnect and run a low grade charge along the seam for…about thirty seconds."_

T'Lea watched.

And suddenly Lieutenant Shran seemed to be done.

She stood, gave her scanner a passing glance and reached to break the seal on her EV helmet. Removing it to toss it to one hip, rest an elbow on it to hold it in place while she examined the positronic waste accelerator again.

T'Lea reached to remove her own helmet…and was surprised when Shran slapped lightly at her hand.

"We're not clear yet." She said. "I can handle it. You can't, Vulcan. Unless you're just in the mood to entertain. That _would _be very entertaining."

T'Lea removed her hands from her helmet.

Shran nodded.

"Now we close the housing, decon the room and get back to work." She said. "Get over to the decon controls."

Shran reached, flexed and shoved the housing section back into place with a resounding clang. Then twisted the fasteners back into position, shoved them flush with one thumb to activate the automatic seals and smacked the console controls with a closed fist to get everything in there running again.

Before T'Lea could determine where the decon controls were and begin moving in that direction.

So Shran frowned at her.

"Move." She said.

T'Lea didn't move. She looked around carefully in order to determine where the decon controls would most logically be located.

Then moved there to access them.

The process took less than a minute. Nearly an hour more to reactivate and check everything they'd deactivated before accessing the warp core. Then nothing more than a glance to confirm the injector coil monitor reading was now accurate.

Only then did T'Lea remove the bulky, uncomfortable modified EV suit. After confirming for the second time that Engineering was indeed free of contamination.

Shran was there when she did, tossing her a small plastic container of some sort.

"Good work." She said, once she caught the container. "Take a break."

T'Lea examined the container while Shran leaned against the monitor in question. Watching her.

It contained a sandwich, procured from the galley stores. The sandwich contained meat.

"This contains meat." T'Lea said, turning her attention back to Shran. "I will not eat meat."

Shran took a measured bite of the sandwich she held herself. Speaking around the mouthful in an entirely inappropriate manner.

"It's protein, Vulcan." She said, as she chewed. "Eat it."

"No." T'Lea said, politely. And placed the container on the monitor for later disposal. Then returned to work, reviewing diagnostics results for the last two weeks in order to develop a baseline understanding of Engineering's specification standards.

Shran replaced the container with another approximately fifteen minutes later. That sandwich did not contain meat. So T'Lea ate while she worked.


	31. Chapter 31

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
>Captain's Ready Room, Deck A<strong>

"Hess, you have anything here?" Trip said, looking over at her. "I'm sorry…and I really hate to do it to you…but I'm probably going to have to ask you to leave so I can discuss the rest of this with the Commander in private."

Hess almost gawked in surprise.

"Nothing against you and I'm not trying to keep secrets here. But she's Vulcan…"

"Trip, are you nuts?" She said. "I can't leave you here alone with her!"

"I know that probably seems like a bad idea…"

"It doesn't just _probably _seem like it. It actually seems like it. Because it's a very bad idea."

"Hess, you're going to have to trust me."

"Trip," Hess huffed. "Didn't this same conversation just happen in here? And it ended with you letting your XO run off for a date with a Vulcan who can…do some kind of…mind control…"

"You saw the material we dug up on that, Hess." Trip argued. "It's not mind control. All he can do is…get her in the mood. Heck, _I_ can do that."

Hess stared at him. Giving him a dubious once over.

"Well, I mean...maybe not _Song_." He explained. "Or, actually, maybe. Never really thought about it. But it's not _that _hard. You don't need some kind of psychic nervous system communication to…"

"Trip, are you crazy?"

Trip shrugged broadly, defensive now.

"I've _dated _before, Hess." He said. "Even got lucky a few times. Enough to figure _that _much out. Besides, you don't know Song. She's gonna eat this guy for breakfast, now that she…"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Hess exclaimed. "Your XO is off playing with some kind of Vulcan Casanova. And you want me to leave you alone in a room with the agent that ordered that _and _tried to take control of your ship! And let's not forget the nuclear laser missiles down in your cargo bay."

Trip had his hands on his hips then, asserting himself.

"So you're _really _asking if I'm crazy, Hess?" He frowned.

"I just want to understand what the heck is going on around here, Trip!" Hess insisted. "I jumped ship to come over here and help you, in case you forgot that."

"Okay, Hess. Fine. Where do you want to start?"

Hess visibly struggled with that for second. Because there were about two dozen issues, large and small, that she would love to start with.

"The missiles, Trip." She said, at last. "It's obvious what you mean to do with them. You're going out there to find the Romulan fleet and shoot them with those things."

"That's right." Trip nodded. "That's what I'm going to do with them."

"Will that even work? Will it even impact their shields…?"

"We've run the simulation about a thousand times, Hess. It'll work. Should knock their shields out completely. Most of them, anyway."

"And if it gets through to the hull? X-ray lasers as powerful as that?"

Trip hesitated.

"Then…we won't have as many Romulans to fight."

Hess was almost beside herself at that.

"Trip…that's…_barbaric_." She breathed. "How can you _do _that?"

"Hess, stop and think. Please." Trip implored her. "We're on a frigate. An experimental frigate up against a whole Romulan fleet. Thirty ships or more, if it's the _main _fleet. What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know." Hess denied. "Something. Can't you come up with something?"

"I did. This is it."

Hess shook her head, eyes closed tight.

Trying to reason through this, but…

"Hess, I get it." Trip said, speaking softly. "I know it's shocking. The history that Earth has…weapons like these…it's offensive. We were all brought up to react to something like that with horror. But look at it objectively."

Hess sighed harshly.

"I'm _trying_, Trip. But…"

"But it's still hard. I know."

"It's a horrible weapon." Hess insisted.

"Yes, it is. And I'm not going to say something trite like, 'all weapons are horrible'. Of course they are. And some are more horrible than others. This is all we've got, though. And we have to do every bit of damage to that fleet that we can before it reaches Centauri."

Hess still frowned and she was still deeply disturbed. But she was listening, at least.

"Hess…think about it. We're not going to be able to take on all those ships. But we might be able to do enough damage that they have to break off. Maybe force them to stop and conduct repairs, buy a few precious days. We could even throw the whole invasion off, if we're lucky."

Hess was thinking about it, he could see. Brow furrowed, frowning. Still upset but…thinking about it.

She eventually sighed.

"Trip…you weren't kidding when you said 'suicide mission', were you?"

"No," He said, regretfully. "I hope you didn't think I was."

"No, I knew. I just…this kinda puts that into perspective."

Trip's expression was pained. And he tried to come up with something…

"We…maybe we can divert a bit." He offered. "There's a couple of places we can drop you off at."

"That's not what I mean." Hess denied, shaking her head. "I mean I get how it's a suicide mission. And why. And how it's worth it. So, no, I'm not going anywhere. I just…don't like those missiles."

"Me, either." Trip said, offering her a rueful grin.

Hess considered that.

"Oh, really?" She smirked. If only slightly. "Even the 'Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator'?"

Trip blinked a bit, surprised. "You saw that?"

"Yeah. I saw that."

"Alright, look." He rushed to explain. "That's just…"

"No, I get morbid humor, Trip. Not exactly something Starfleet would condone but…and it'd probably be funny if I got the reference."

"Oh. Okay." Trip said, uncertainly.

Then…

"I've got a copy of the cartoons." He said. "Marvin the Martian and…"

"No. Jeez, Trip." Hess frowned.

"Okay." He nodded.

Hess sighed. A bit disgruntled still but…accepting.

Then she remembered the Vulcan in the room, since she happened to glance around enough to catch her with her peripheral vision.

She'd moved. And just far enough, Hess was surprised to realize, that she hadn't attracted her _attention _by moving. And just far enough that she'd been out of her immediate line of sight for most of the argument with Trip.

So she'd forgotten she was even in the room.

Hess was suddenly sure…that had been completely intentional.

And Trip wanted her to leave him alone in the room with her?

Again…was he nuts?

"Trip, are you sure about…?" She asked, vaguely nodding in T'Pol's direction.

Trip spared the Vulcan a glance but didn't seem as surprised as she'd been. And he didn't seem concerned at all.

"Yeah, Hess." He nodded. "It's fine."

Well…dang. But okay.

She nodded, reaching out to place a hand on his chest. To let him know she was still with him on this.

"I'll be down in Engineering." She said. "If you need me…just call."

Trip grinned. That playful little grin he loved to throw around.

"Go on." He said. "We'll catch up later. Promise."

She nodded again. And that was that.

Hess made her way to the door, through and beyond to the corridor outside.

Leaving T'Pol alone with the Captain in the ready room.

* * *

><p>While the argument between the Captain and the Commander waged nearby, rising and falling chaotically in its intensity and emotionality, T'Pol removed herself to the periphery as much as she was able. Doing so circumspectly, so as to avoid drawing attention to herself.<p>

To distract herself from the disturbance, without losing awareness of it entirely, she examined the Captain's ready room.

It consisted of two desks, complete with fully functional computer consoles and each with their own chair, though one had been relocated to a position across from the larger of the two. The Captain's own desk, presumably.

To one side, a couch sporting the addition of a pillow and thin blanket. It was unkempt and clearly not designed to be slept on nor to accept bedding. She determined from this that the Captain slept here often, if not exclusively. Despite having quarters among the other officers on Deck B.

The room was painted in unassuming gray, the carpeting was thin but comfortable and nearly a dozen holographic projectors were embedded around the walls in various places. Much like the bridge, it apparently enjoyed that feature. Hence the floating window the Captain had used to access the recordings she'd suffered moments ago.

In the wall behind the Captain's desk, extending halfway across the room to the door to the corridor, a wide viewport currently showed the elongated star pattern indicative of warp travel. Nothing else occupied that wall.

Immediately before her, the focus of her current attention, a display table sat between the couch and the wall bordering the bridge. On it a number of interesting objects were cluttered, many she could not immediately recognize. Five hardcopy books stacked to one side, including a well worn black book that required closer examination before being identified as the primary text of the religion Captain Tucker ascribed to. The others apparently being various engineering and tactical related texts.

She found the books being arranged together as they were to be curious. One would typically expect a religious text to be afforded significant preeminence.

Two hand-sized models were on display as well, on the small elevated shelf attached to the table. One of the _Tempest _and the other, surprisingly, the _Enterprise_.

Of greater surprise, however, was the extensive star chart attached to the wall above the display table. It extended well over sixty light-years out from Sol, at its center, with dozens of the star systems having tiny, handwritten notes ascribed beneath in white. Locations of various trade stations, names of persons perhaps to be found there and even one indication that the system in question was a 'good source topaline'.

This was not especially surprising. Rather the unnamed star system roughly between Son'a and 14 Eridani. The one the Captain, presumably, had named. Having written that name on the star chart.

Xyrillia.

And that was indeed surprising. Vulcan Space Command had, to date, consistently failed to discover the location of the Xyrillian homeworld. Yet here it was, casually ascribed on a star chart decorating the wall of the Captain's ready room.

T'Pol made note of the location, in order to pass that information on to Vulcan Intelligence and High Command.

But that drew her attention to the object on the display table she had saved for last.

A picture display, cycling slowly through several dozen digital photographs. Turned just so and precisely so that it could be easily seen from both the Captain's desk and from a reclined position on the couch.

Photographs she noted as most likely captured from the holochamber recording. Several from either recordings she hadn't witnessed or some section of that particular one that she hadn't experienced. A dozen others from unknown sources, though most showing the Xyrillian as an infant obviously having been taken on Earth, in whatever facility the Captain had occupied then. Several others that could only have been taken on Xyrillia, and so presumably communicated to Captain Tucker by contacts there or by Ah'len herself.

But all of them featured the Xyrillian Lynn, most of them in the company of the Captain.

One photograph in the series she almost missed. The most striking of the entire assortment. A high resolution image, taken by press photographers she was forced to assume.

Captain Tucker, dressed in civilian clothing, in the process of handing the infant Lynn over to three Xyrillians in uniform. His facial expression…indiscernible.

The argument behind her had wound down by then, with nothing having occurred that she found especially relevant. So she turned, hands folded at her back properly, to wait for the conclusion and for the two Starfleet officers to remember she was there.

The discussion ended, with Commander Hess touching the Captain in an inappropriate manner before finally leaving the room. And the Captain's attention soon returned to her.

He drew a breath and expelled it, clearly expelling some measure of emotion in the process.

Then smiled.

"You drink coffee?"

"Coffee." T'Pol said, curiously. "Normally, no."

"Well, I know most Vulcans don't care for it." He nodded. "I've got tea around here somewhere, if you like."

"I do not require anything to drink, thank you."

He nodded.

"Okay, let's get started." He said, turning to his desk to search for and find a cup.

"Alice, how's your processing?" He asked, examining the contents of the cup.

"_Well within functional limits, Trip." _

"You've followed along so far, haven't you?"

"_I have followed along successfully."_

The Captain took a sip from the cup. Coffee, apparently.

Then gestured at the air before him with the cup.

"Break it down for us, Alice. What do we know about what's going on in Commander T'Pol's head?"

"_Commander T'Pol's primary concern is aiding this vessel in verifying and responding to the possibility of the Romulan main fleet approaching Centauri. There is a relationship between the Vulcan and Romulan people that Commander T'Pol considers a secondary concern, contrary to the opinion of her superiors. She harbors regrets over her attempt to balance these two issues and believes she has failed in doing so, damaging the relationship between her team and this crew, perhaps irreparably. She is highly motivated to repair that relationship. Commander T'Pol is also reluctant to attempt to seduce you, despite perceiving that as beneficial to her primary concern. She has discovered another method of establishing trust and possible intimacy in your relationship that is currently unknown."_

"Thank you, Alice." He nodded. "Offline."

He examined the cup again, finding it empty, and replaced it on his desk. Alongside four others identical to it.

Then leaned against the wall, near the viewport. Arms folded, smiling politely.

"So here's your chance." He said. "Take your best shot."

T'Pol had been more or less prepared already, when she first came to the Captain's ready room. She'd hoped to be able to avoid revealing the information she was about to, but she had been prepared to nonetheless.

So she drew a deep breath of her own, in order to begin.

"There is a relationship of sorts between the Vulcan and Romulan people." She said. "It is one that we cannot reasonably be held accountable for and which we have no control over. Nevertheless, it has been determined that we likely will be and that this will have devastating consequences for us. Despite what this might suggest, we have no actual contact or interaction with them as such.

"Following the events surrounding the recovery of the _Kir'shara_, Vulcan Intelligence became aware of Romulan infiltration within the ranks of our own government. Recent government reforms have, of course, included eliminating that infiltration. This has met with some success. But we also became aware of Romulan infiltration and influence throughout the coalition in the process, and so it became obvious that they posed a significant threat to the coalition and all its signatories, not only Vulcan.

"We had reason to believe at the time that once the Romulans began whatever campaign they were clearly preparing for, they would be particularly savage about it. And that savagery would be associated with Vulcan by extension. Considering our nature and reputation, that would prove disastrous. The galaxy would be, in every way that mattered, bereft of our leadership and example. We would no longer be trusted. That is unacceptable. And so we have endeavored to combat the Romulan threat, in conjunction with various clandestine organizations throughout this part of the galaxy. Including two such organizations of your own."

"Unfortunately…" T'Pol hesitated. "It seems we have not only underestimated the extent of their infiltration but also the scale of the campaign that it was intended to prepare for. Striking militarily against the entire coalition, across two entire sectors of space…that was simply unimaginable. In fact, it remains…striking."

The Captain listened as she spoke. And he waited patiently once she'd finished, to be sure she had in fact finished.

"Maybe I missed the part in there where you explained what that relationship was." He said.

"No, I did not clarify that point."

"And you're not going to." He guessed.

"I will not." She affirmed. "I have already revealed far more than my superiors would find acceptable. And I have manipulated the plain language of my instructions to the extreme to do that. Any further clarification is not possible without committing treason. And what I have already said may well constitute that as it is."

"Then why not just go ahead and tell me?"

T'Pol considered that.

"Because I am Vulcan."

* * *

><p>Song was a little miffed at not having been afforded time to even change. Forget about anything that might resemble actually preparing for the date.<p>

She was in her duty uniform still. Which would have been completely intolerable, were she not _so _looking forward to this.

This was going to be fun.

He was handsome, of course. The Vulcan uniform he'd switched to didn't hurt. It was quite dashing, in her opinion. She even liked the haircut, if she was going to be perfectly honest.

But she started wondering what he'd smell like, if she could manage to get that close. Or…taste like, for that matter.

And finding some way to run her hand across his shoulders was extremely appealing all of a sudden.

So she stood at the table and didn't take her seat. Even though he'd pulled her chair out for her, which she figured indicated he'd done his homework.

No, she just stood there while he tried to figure out why she wasn't sitting down. And she smirked, even if that did require dragging her eyes away from that mouth of his long enough to make contact.

"Yeah," She said, smirking. "You can knock that right the hell off, Mr. Vulcan."

His eyes flickered, which was already kind of funny. A little out of his depth all of a sudden, trying to figure out where he'd gone off track.

"I just had a very interesting confrontation…excuse me, _conversation_…with Commander T'Pol." Song explained. "She was kind enough to clue us in on a few things we didn't know before. So the three of you didn't have to sit out the rest of this trip in the brig, you see."

The pressure…or the _draw_, more accurately…eased off significantly then. She almost felt like she'd physically taken a step back.

"You are aware." He said, stiffly.

He caught on pretty quick, which was impressive. But he was stiff alright. Near rigid with shock.

Vulcans didn't handle that sort of thing very well. Which, again…funny.

"Yes, I am." She smirked. "Little known fact, Major…I have a handy-dandy little tool in my quarters. A very useful little gadget for a Starfleet officer to have. Very convenient. It should be standard issue, in my opinion. So I don't really need you."

Were he Human, he'd probably be sweating already. Vulcans didn't sweat much. Or at all, she was pretty sure.

They did twitch nicely.

"I see." He said, hesitantly. "I will, of course…"

"Yeah, hush and listen. Momma's talking." She interrupted. "Now, you see, the thing is…you can't have dinner and stimulating conversation with that little gadget. So we can either sit down and have that or you can try your little trick again. I'll run on by supply and pick up a spare power cell. I don't mind lighting some candles, putting on the right music and making an evening out of it. While you're down in the brig wishing you'd had dinner."

She waited a bit. Watching the wheels turn…

Until he finally did that Vulcan thing, tucking his hands behind his back to stand at ease.

She decided she liked that position. So he'd be doing more of that.

"Which would you prefer?" He asked. With perhaps just the barest hint of flirtation.

And anxiety.

A nice mix, she decided. So more of that as well.

"Dinner and conversation, of course." She smiled. "Although I admit I'd get a kick out of the other. It'd be pretty funny. What about you, Major?"

He caught up quick.

"Dinner and conversation seems preferable to incarceration, Commander." He said, politely. "Considering the current company, comparing the two approaches the ludicrous."

She grinned. Perhaps just a bit wickedly.

"You're a logical guy, Tulok. I kind of figured you'd come to that conclusion."

She got the eyebrow for that. Daringly enough, an _amused _eyebrow.

"Don't get too happy, Major." She warned. "You're not getting lucky tonight."

"On the contrary, I consider myself extremely fortunate."

"Good answer. Let's keep that in mind."


	32. Chapter 32

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Conference Room, Deck A**

"Alright, meeting time." Trip said, plopping his cup of coffee on the table.

The senior staff arranged around the room and at the table all hushed quickly enough, so he didn't have to get snippy. That was always nice.

He tapped at the console controls at the head of the table, where he stood.

"Updating PADDs…now. Alice, online."

"_Hello, Trip. I see you're having a mandatory weekly command staff meeting. Would you like me to monitor the Sisco system and update comms with the upgrades you've made available?"_

"Yes, thanks Alice." Trip said, before turning to the waiting crew. "Anyone not here?"

Everyone looked around. No one appeared to be missing.

"Well, that's a shame." Trip said, grinning a little. "I left the new steward's assistant position open but I guess that's going to fall to you, Roger. Sucks to be an Ensign."

Roger Million groaned slightly but otherwise didn't object.

"I'm sure Jenson will appreciate the help and you'll do the senior staff proud. He _is _running the show all by himself, people. Let's take it easy on him. Pick up after yourselves and go get a snack from the mess hall _yourself _from time to time.

"Tactical. The missiles are ready, so we're done there. Simulations are positive, so we can check that off for now. This is your time to catch up on everything you've left undone after being in two fights in one week.

"Engineering, you can feel free to consign the missiles to the 'routine maintenance' category until further notice. Also…system silent and Echo, we're going to try combining those two systems. You should have an outline for that and all resource material on your PADDs with this update. Hess, Shran and T'Lea are granted the inestimable privilege of that assignment. Hess and Shran have authorization to bring Alice online as needed. T'Lea…you don't.

"Downing and Crowley, you're Alpha and Beta Engineering shift seconds. James you've got Gamma. But considering that covers our entire current Engineering department you'll pretty much be supervising yourselves."

Chuckles around the room. Everyone showed appropriate appreciation for the fact the people in the room represented almost the entire ship's crew.

"Communications." Trip continued. "Judge and Eckerd, you're all we've got so you'll have to rotate Beta shift. Steel and Million, same with Flight. I'll trust you to cut Million some slack, Lieutenant, since he's doubling as steward this week.

"Medical. Doctor Andrews is our medical staff. There are _no _medics. So do him a polite favor and don't get hurt or sick. Failing that, get better quick.

"Science. We're plugging Alice into the computer core, effective Beta shift tomorrow. That's enough to keep you two occupied all week, so I'll try not to throw anything else on top of that. I _will _be taking Song away now and then. I can't help that, but I'll try to get her back to you as soon as I can.

"Final notes. We're still short a shuttle, down to one. As in our only shuttle, on this ship that doesn't have a transporter. Let's take extra special care of Shuttle Two, people. Also, forward lift is operational. So you don't have to take the long way around anymore.

"And let's all stare in disapproval at Crenshaw for a moment, since he was dumb enough to get himself promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade."

A short moment where everyone frowned playfully at Crenshaw. Who only grinned unabashedly in return.

"Okay, that's the department list. Questions? Comments?"

Nothing.

"Come on, guys." Trip said. "I know I at least forgot something."

Song spoke up.

"Movie night, Captain."

"Right." Trip nodded. "Movie night is officially back on the schedule…"

Lots of positive murmuring over that.

"…but we're moving that to _tomorrow _night."

Mild groans of disapproval.

"Since your XO insists, she'll be picking tomorrow night's movie. Prepare yourselves to experience Centaurian cinema snobbery. Song, whatcha got?"

"'Scanatics'. 2142 best pick by Entertainment News. Allena Harrow, Jorge Fenway…"

"A horror movie, Song? Maybe not the 'best pick' right now."

"Horror _comedy_." Song corrected. "Quirky hero, bumbling shape shifters, romance, comedy…it's perfect, sir."

Trip frowned…but shrugged. "Alright, you're the shrink. I'll trust your judgment on that. As for _tonight's _entertainment…"

Trip waited a beat.

"Tactical simulations, 1800 hours."

Cheers erupted around the conference room. Loudly enough to make the Vulcans in attendance twitch.

Trip was forced to shout over the commotion.

"Gamma shift bridge crew, Deck B holochamber! Alpha/Beta shift, the bridge!"

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Alpha<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate  
><strong>**Unidentified Rolor-Class Nebula**

Song took the chair, a quick glance around confirming everyone was on station. She took the chair only in the figurative sense, though. Instead she went straight to the command console, to stand there ready.

She'd actually thought at first that Alpha would just be manning the bridge while Gamma ran simulations. Hopefully running some other kind of exercise up here while they waited their turn. But she'd noticed right away that the holographic projectors were running. They weren't actually projecting anything onto the bridge at the moment, but they were ready to.

So, interesting.

A quick look at the command console…nothing. It was blank. Controls in evidence, report windows…but no information at all.

She spared the Captain a curious look over her shoulder, back where he stood near the lift. Studying his PADD…

"1800 hours." Trip suddenly announced, without looking up. "Simulation go."

The command console lit up, the tactical display map flared into being and all three forward view screens on the other side of it came on.

Blue-green out there…a nebula. Beautiful actually but, yes, she could see the subtle indications that it was all computer generated.

So Trip had tuned the bridge projectors to provide them their own simulation up _here_, while Gamma ran _theirs _down on Deck B. And since the bridge holoprojectors were involved, rather than just the consoles themselves…that meant bridge battle damage simulation was available.

Which meant _battle_.

Sweet.

"Tanner?" She asked, without taking her eyes off her console.

"Looks like…a Rolor-Class nebula." He answered, from the Science station. "I'm sending advisories down to Engineering."

Rolor-Class…well, that sucked. Their propulsion would be fighting _that _for the duration of the simulation…

"General quarters." Song ordered.

"_General quarters. All hands, action stations. This is not a drill."_

Well, actually, it sort of _was _a drill…

"Contact." Tanner reported, immediately after. "Dead ahead, 100,000 kilometers. Profile…aw, you gotta be kidding me…it's the _Tempest Gamma_, ma'am."

_Tempest Gam-…?_

Oh. Ha, funny.

"Death match." Trip announced.

Oh! _Well_, now! This was going to be fun!

So…Shran was down there on Deck B, just now realizing the same. And the two bridge shifts were going _head-to-head _in this simulation.

Song grinned.

"Go combat, hull and weapons." She ordered.

"_All hands, combat stations. This is not a drill."_

"Close in, full impulse, lock on target."

On her command console Song could see Steel accelerate before she'd even finished giving the order. They were at full impulse and Harrison had the lock already…and _Tempest Gamma_ hadn't even moved yet.

They were at 61,000 kilometers when she saw _Gamma's _weapons system flare up, only now going to combat stations themselves and preparing to engage…

She pounced on the opportunity.

"Fast attack." She ordered.

Steel's fingers danced over the Helm console, dumping plasma into the mix. The same maneuver Archer had pulled on _them_…

It was a good move. Close in to fire at phase cannon optimal range, under 10,000 kay, then zoom on past back out of that optimal range. Hopefully before your opponent could fire back and benefit from it themselves.

_Tempest Alpha _hit 9,500 kay, moving well beyond full impulse, when Harrison opened fire from Tactical.

Opened fire with everything, cannons _and _torpedoes, as they zoomed by. _Gamma _had their shields up and were on the move by then…but _Tempest Alpha _still got off the first shot…

Unfortunately, they didn't hit a thing. _Gamma _barely managed to dance just enough…one phase cannon glancing off her shield, but that was all.

They flashed by _Gamma_ and back out again, only making 14,000 kay on the far side before Downing had to cut the plasma bleed. Thrusters going critical…that wasn't a good thing to let happen in a fight.

So they'd just have to practice that maneuver a bit. Duly noted.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Gamma<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate  
><strong>**Unidentified Rolor-Class Nebula**

Gamma shift took their places, once the holographics finally had everything set up. Behind them, at the door to the lift…the door to the holochamber actually…Commander Benning stood, monitoring his PADD.

Shran barely had time to take the chair before the simulation started.

"1800 hours. Simulation go." Benning announced.

The main screen lit up, showing…a nebula?

"Rolor-Class nebula, Commander." Eckerd warned, from the Science station. "We're going to have trouble with propulsion."

"Contact engineering, let them know to keep an eye on filtration systems." Shran ordered. "Action stations, Roscoe."

"_General quarters. All hands, action stations. This is not a drill."_

"Contact." Eckerd announced, almost immediately. "Vessel at 100,000 kay dead ahead. Identifying…_Tempest Alpha_, Commander."

"_Tempest Alpha?" _Shran asked, turning to squint at Benning.

Benning just watched his PADD.

"Yes, ma'am." Eckerd nodded. "I bet that's Alpha shift, up on the bridge…"

"Death match." Benning said.

And Shran grinned.

Oh, really? Well _this _should be interesting…

"Go combat, hull and weapons." Shran ordered, still grinning.

"_All hands, combat stations. This is not a drill."_

"_Tempest Alpha _on approach." Eckerd announced. "Coming in at…"

"Their shields are up, weapons hot." Roscoe said, talking over him.

Shran almost frowned.

Already? That was quick.

"They're…moving pretty fast, Commander." Eckerd said. "50,000 kay and closing…35,000..."

"They're bleeding plasma into impulse." Crowley said. "Just like Malcolm Reed…"

"Full impulse." Shran ordered.

Because, damn. They could close in and fire before they could even lock on. Then be gone again by the time they finally did.

"_Alpha_ closing at 10,000 kay…" Eckerd reported. "Phase cannon fire! Incoming torpedoes!"

"Evasive, down z-axis!" Shran snapped.

"_Alpha_ at 6,500 kay, forward starboard." Eckerd reported.

On the main view screen, Shran watched the _Tempest_…or the holographic _copy _of the _Tempest_, flash past to starboard and off again behind them.

Crimson beams slashing their way as they passed…bright blue points of light leaping out…

Both coming close but…

"No impact, Commander." Roscoe said. "One hit glanced off our shields, no effect. They're still locked on."

"_Alpha _on departure, rear starboard. 15,000 kay." Eckerd said. "Their acceleration's dropped back to standard max."

"Their thrusters are critical." Downing said. "They had to cut the bleed…"

"Hard evasive, Million! Break that lock!" Shran ordered.

Shran got it. It was obvious.

They'd been ordered to use Starfleet standard bridge reporting.

_Tempest Alpha, _on the other hand_, _was apparently using the _Tempest's _own reporting protocols. And that meant they had access to the _Tempest's _console setup, while _Gamma _was stuck with Starfleet console systems…

Well. She wasn't going to make this _easy _for them.

_Alpha_ was out at only 15,000 kay behind them, so they'd screwed up that fancy 'fast attack' they stole from Archer. And they hadn't hit a thing, either.

So Shran had to move quick if she was going to take advantage of that.

"Lock on, Roscoe." She said.

Roscoe played the console quickly. And he was very good at it.

"Target loc-…"

"Fire."

"Firing…impact, all cannons."

Eckerd gave them the score, from the Science station. "Target's hull is at 96%, shields at 91%."

Shran grinned again.

* * *

><p>Song eyed the real time damage report on her console. Hull 96%, shield 91%. And <em>Gamma <em>had a lock on them now, while they'd managed to throw off _Alpha's _lock.

But _Gamma _hadn't moved. They just sat there and shot at them instead.

That didn't make any sense.

"Lock on _Gamma_." Song ordered. "Weapons free."

On the tactical map the two ships were still on departure from one another. And they were approaching 100,000 kay. Outside phase cannon effective range.

On her console Song could see Harrison lock and fire immediately, before they got that far away. And she could see the hits happen, with the report from Science on _Gamma's_ current status adjusting accordingly.

On the tactical map _Tempest Alpha_, still at full impulse, going the _other _way, lanced out behind her with phase cannons on the ship she'd just flown past. Hitting and flaring their shield mere seconds later. And torpedoes arched out in their wake immediately after that to bring the pain.

And they did. Tanner was keeping a steady report on _Gamma's _current status to the command console. And Song could see the hits as they happened.

Hull 73%, Shields 89%. That was some nice penetration by Harrison over there on Tactical.

"Come about, break lock." Song said.

And _Tempest Alpha _slung around, bucking high and low for a split second to break lock…then full impulse forward to chase after _Gamma_…

…who still hadn't done much of anything but move in one direction and fire…

Oh.

Right. She got it.

Trip and Benning must have reviewed the after action on their last engagement, with the _Enterprise_. They'd all fallen back into some bad habits in all the excitement, so the Captain was trying to make a point here.

Okay. Got it. Point taken.

Harrison had weapons free, so Song could see he was already firing again. Scoring with all three phase cannons, all along _Gamma's _rear section. Torpedoes darting in right behind with one of the three hitting and piercing the shield he'd just weakened all the more…

Target hull 69%, Shields 70%.

Not nearly as impressive a hit except…

Song could see, on Tanner's sensor report…_Gamma's _targeting sensors had just gone offline.

"Half impulse five seconds." Song ordered. "Then full impulse."

That'd drop them right back out of phase cannon range just before Shran could fire back...

* * *

><p><em>Gamma <em>shook a bit, taking two full weapon spreads from _Alpha_.

And, really. That just wasn't fair, Shran fumed. They were just too damned quick.

"Hull 69%, Shields at 70%!" Roscoe reported. "They shook my lock and I can't get it back…!"

"Sensor systems damaged!" Downing said. "Targeting's offline!"

_Gamma _shuddered again.

And that wasn't incoming fire.

"Oh, no…" Downing groaned. "Propulsion's down. That damned nebula…"

"Combat repairs!" Shran snapped. "Quit wasting time! Roscoe, fire torpedoes!"

"Firing…no impact."

Shran snarled and growled a bit. But there wasn't much else she could do about that. He didn't have a lock.

"They've come about!" Eckerd said. "Closing, on intercept! "

* * *

><p>On the target status report…<p>

Song almost felt bad. _Gamma's _targeting sensors were still offline _and _their propulsion had just dropped out.

That was pretty ironic. The ship's Chief Engineer had the chair over there on _Gamma _but they didn't have access to _Tempest's _intersystem communications set up. And their Engineering department required a steady hand in dealing with that nebula.

But Shran, of course, wasn't down in Engineering to provide that. While here Downing was practically _running _Engineering from the bridge and had the attention to spare for that, since he wasn't required to shout out every little thing he was doing to the chair. It was already right there on the command console.

"All weapons continue." Song ordered.

Not that it was really necessary. Harrison already had weapons free, but she didn't want him to hesitate. Shran _was _in command over there and that required a healthy amount of respect.

_Gamma _was dead in the water though, so to speak. Still able to fire, but unable to lock or maneuver. And _Alpha _was approaching 10,000 kay again. Optimal phase cannon range.

"Half impulse, maintain range." Song ordered.

And _Alpha _began to circle _Gamma_. Phase cannons lashing out, again and again. Torpedoes flaring out, impacting. Keeping on the move to make themselves a hard target against an opponent who couldn't lock on…

On the command console's target status report…Hull 50%…30%…15%..

Shields 60%…45%…20%…

Targeting sensors offline. Propulsion offline.

Now sensor systems offline entirely.

Life support failing…

…

Oh, well. It _was _a death match.

* * *

><p>"Hull 13%, Shields 19%." Roscoe sighed.<p>

And he sounded almost bored.

"Firing…no impact." He said. "And…I just lost weapons. Guess I'll go make a sandwich."

"Major structural damage." Crowley frowned. "Hull breaches, all decks. Just lost the armory…"

The air shimmied…and turned vaguely red. With a weird vapor effect distorting everything.

"Life support's failing, ma'am." Eckerd noted.

Shran just tossed up her hands at that.

"Shields offline." Crowley continued. "Engineering reports radiation spike…"

Shran squinted, considering…

Then smirked.

"Initiate warp core breach." She ordered.

"…ma'am?"

"You heard me, Crowley. And make it quick."

Crowley just stared at her. A little horrified.

"It's a death match, Lieutenant." Shran explained. "Do you want to lose or tie?"

* * *

><p>On the command console Song winced as <em>Gamma's <em>shields finally caved in.

This was really starting to get painful to watch.

Or…you know, to _do_. But, hey…death match.

An energy spike in _Gamma's _warp core…

No way. There's _no way _Shran would…

_Imminent warp core breach! _

Song almost gawked at the flashing warning indicator on her console. But she didn't waste time doing that. Instead…

"Disengage, full impulse, full departure." She ordered.

And she watched the range carefully. Not that there was anything more she could do than run the hell away as fast as she could.

25,000 kay…

32,000 kay…

"Plasma bleed, all impulse rockets." She said.

Because, what the heck? Worst that could happen was losing impulse, which would probably be _outside _the range of that blast. That was perfectly fine.

Death match, after all.

_Tempest Alpha _immediately started breaking some impulse speed records. Then she lost impulse entirely two seconds later, with all rockets not only failing but outright exploding.

But they did at least hit 50,000 kay before _Gamma _popped.


	33. Chapter 33

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Mess Hall, Deck C**

Trip laughed as he entered the Mess Hall, Commander Hess grinning at his side.

"Duratanium braces." Trip said, shaking his head. "In a shuttle pod. And all the while Reed's firing Klingon torpedoes right outside the ship, trying to ride the shockwave back up _your _way."

"It was an interesting ride." Hess smirked, tilting her a little to indicate…it really _was _one heck of an interesting ride.

"I'll bet." Trip grinned. "And you made it?"

"The Klingon officer and I got the port fusion injector back up and running just in time. And we got _off _the ship and got the heck out of there before her friends showed up."

"Good job, Hess." Trip nodded, approving.

He quirked a grin at her then, speculatively.

"A Klingon girl, though…I bet that was interesting. Never met one myself."

Hess snorted. "Don't get any ideas, Trip. I got the impression they're a little more…aggressive than you'd probably like."

"Can't say I mind that now and again." He smirked, suggestively.

Hess snorted. "Well, if you ever have the opportunity to meet a nice Klingon girl…'nice' being relative…you be sure to let me know. I want to be there to see that."

They chuckled a bit together as they approached the bar. Where absolutely no one waited to serve them.

Standing there for perhaps no more than a second before they realized…

"Right." Trip smiled. "I guess we'd better hit the galley back there."

Once they'd filled a tray with something approximating a proper meal they found a seat at a nice quiet table in the corner. The first well rounded meal that Trip had managed to avail himself of in several days.

And it was easy finding a table. There wasn't anyone else around.

Trip didn't dig right in, though. He focused on Hess instead.

"So, three days on the _Tempest_, Commander." He said, propping his elbows on the table. "And you've managed to work yourself around to just about every deck and section. What do you think of her?"

Hess grinned. "Well…she's _interesting_. A little odd how you cut the saucer section out like that. I have to wonder how you maintain warp field stability with that kind of profile."

Trip didn't need any more prompting than that.

"It's all about mass." He said, diving right in. "Shape doesn't matter so much. The Hammerhead's forward hull has the mass to hold that penetrating warp field just fine. In fact, there are advantages to a single hull design in the first place. You use less power, have better maneuverability and, if you design it right, you could end up faster than a cruiser. All the Hammerhead really does is take a single-hull design and slap some soft right angles on the front to take advantage of sympathetic warp field generation for the penetrating field. And with the over and under nacelle layout you've got a good, strong trailing field to match."

"Yeah, but you don't have the bulk of your ship centered in those two fields." Hess argued. "It's spread around almost evenly. Look where the fields intersect! It's right in the middle of your main hull."

"_Mass_, Hess." Trip pointed out. "That's the key. The Hammerhead's mass _is _centered in both fields. Well, almost. Close enough. But the design of the main central hull gives you a low enough mass that the coefficient of both fields is high and they're _almost _perfectly centered, so you've got a very stable field overall…"

"Okay, but doesn't that lower mass at the center make you weak structurally at a high profile point?"

"Well, there are ways around that." Trip explained. "Weaker in terms of mass, maybe, but take a look at the hull and bulkhead layout in that area. Remember those duratanium braces you used in the shuttle? The Hammerhead's central hull section is pretty well reinforced with that layout. She's very tough, very stable."

"But, Trip…why not just attach the nacelles right to a primary saucer section if you wanted a single-hull design? Maybe brace the nacelles with a trailing wing, like the _Enterprise_. You wouldn't even have to play with that all that much to make it work. Starfleet's been itching to build one of those for a long time. There must be a hundred workable blueprints on file..."

"Yeah, but Hess!" Trip exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "It's a hammerhead shark!"

Hess snorted, shaking her head at that.

"So, wait a minute…you spent three years building this thing because it looked like shark?"

"A shark, Hess." Trip said, seriously. "A hammerhead shark."

They talked like that for a while, picking apart the design itself. Hess pointing out all the flaws and everything that could have been done better…just to see Trip so eagerly defend the design.

Because, of course, it looked like a shark.

It wasn't a bad design at all. That was just fun to watch.

"You know," Hess said, eventually. "I have to admit I'm glad I jumped ship. It's been an interesting experience so far."

"Interesting, huh?" Trip smirked.

"Yes, interesting." She said. "But it is good to work with you again, Trip. Although…I honestly expected you'd be elbows-deep in the repairs. It surprised me that you actually have engineers on this ship. And that you let them fix things without you _being _there."

"Well, someone decided making me Captain was a good idea." Trip shrugged. "And that was the only way I could actually get to fly this ship. Doesn't leave a whole lot of time for anything else, though."

He leaned forward conspiratorially then, elbows on the table still.

"And don't tell anybody, but…I'm not sure I could take Shran in a fight. And that's just what would happen if I ran down to Engineering and tried to take over."

"Another 'interesting' bit." Hess chuckled. "She's quite a character."

"Hell of an engineer, though. And not a bad gal. Taken in moderation."

"I'm sure she is." Hess shrugged. "But, really Trip. I'm glad to be here."

Trip smiled at that. But it was a tight smile.

"Not sure I am, Hess." He said, regretfully. "That you're here, I mean. On one hand I sure need your help and I'm…more than a little relieved that somebody from the old crew still believes in me. But I've lost a little sleep over it, too."

Hess considered that.

"You're worried about me." She decided.

"It's a dangerous mission. A suicide mission, probably. Not sure I ever should have let you come along."

"My decision, Trip. I'm here because I want to be."

"Even knowing…?"

"Yes." Hess insisted. "And stop that. I'm a big girl, you know."

"Aw, I know that. Doesn't stop me from feeling like I wasn't much of a friend letting you in on this."

"You've got a lot of _other _friends on this ship, too."

"Yeah, but…not like you, Hess."

That…well, that struck home a bit. And Hess had to huddle up a little to keep herself centered.

"I…well…thanks, Trip." She said, flustered. "But…I'm not the only one, you know. We all remember you from the old days. And we've kept up with you while you were…away. I don't know why you didn't talk to Archer about all this. Maybe he could have helped…"

Trip frowned. "He would have just got in the way. And none of the others would have even tried to understand either. I'd have ended up being delayed a lot more than I could afford, assuming I didn't just end up in the brig to begin with."

That troubled Hess. Because that didn't sound right at all.

"Trip, I don't think that's what would have happened." She argued. "Maybe you'd have had to _convince _the Captain, but I think he would have understood. And he'd have done anything he could to help you."

"_Enterprise _has its own mission." Trip shrugged, dismissively. "What could they have done? Come along with us? They're needed at Vulcan."

Hess cocked her head a little, giving Trip a good reexamination.

"What?" He asked, uncertainly.

"You're making excuses." She said. "Why didn't you want to tell Archer what was going on?"

"It would have just made for trouble, Hess." He insisted.

"What, like being taken into custody? Stunning Malcolm and getting chased all over the ship? Kidnapping the Chief Engineer and shooting it up with the _Enterprise_…?"

"It would have been worse if I'd laid it all out on the table like that, Hess." Trip said, flatly.

Hess got it, though. He wasn't fooling her.

"You're wrong, Trip." She said. "And that was all a long time ago. You blame the Captain too much for that anyway. He didn't really have anything to do with it. If he'd known they were really going to go through with it and dismiss you…"

"I know Jon, Hess. When he thinks he's right about something he'll go all the way with it. _Especially _if there's opposition…"

"Sounds like another Captain I ran into recently."

Trip startled at that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're acting a lot like him these days, Trip." Hess insisted. "Sure, you're a lot more serious and a lot more decisive. And that's good. But you pursue whatever decision you've made way past the point where you should have stopped and thought it over again. Like you did with the _Enterprise_. I would have expected you'd stop and try to talk to Archer once the shooting started at least."

"It would have been a waste of time, Hess." Trip insisted. "Even if I'd tried it would have ended up the same way. A lot worse, in fact."

Hess frowned, shaking her head.

"No, I think you're wrong, Trip." She denied. "It isn't just that you don't trust him anymore. You don't _want _to trust him."

"Didn't work out too well last time." Trip said.

And he wasn't even looking at her in saying that. He was glaring off to one side.

Glaring back at the past, Hess knew.

And there it was. That was the whole problem.

"Trip…" She started.

"Well, hello trouble." Trip muttered.

And…that threw her off. What, huh?

He was looking past her, over her shoulder. Focused on that instead of the very important conversation they were about to have here.

Hess glanced back to see what. But some part of her already knew.

Commander T'Pol was standing in the entrance to the Mess Hall. Sort of half turned to leave again, but who knows how long she'd been there.

Probably just long enough to be sure Trip noticed her, Hess thought cynically.

But, yeah.

Hello trouble, alright.

"T'Pol!" Trip called out. And Hess turned back just in time to see him flick a hand their way, beckoning the Vulcan over.

"Trip…" Hess said, lowly. But by then T'Pol was already halfway across the Mess Hall.

Before Hess could figure out what she could say that would magically make that _not _happen, thank you.

"Captain." T'Pol said, standing over the table now.

Hess waited half a beat, until it had been established well enough that her presence here…at the table with Trip, no less…wasn't going to be acknowledged. Then opened her mouth to let whatever witty, snappish thing she was going to say pop right on out.

Trip beat her to it.

"Commander." He said. _Smiling _at her, damn him. "I just realized I never really got a chance to introduce you two."

Oh, God. You've _got _to be…

"Commander T'Pol, Commander Hess." Trip said, offering her up with one hand to the Vulcan. "Probably the second best engineer in all of Starfleet. Saved Malcolm Reed's _life _once on Risa, wrote a field submission on quantum engineering that's still got R&D spinning and managed to stop the Andorians and Vulcans from blowing each other to bits at Weytahn. I could go on and on but, since you're in Intelligence, you probably know everything about her after that."

T'Pol finally spared her an almost polite glance…but Hess barely noticed.

"I…can't believe you know about all that." She said, staring in shock at Trip.

Trip grinned playfully.

"You didn't think I wouldn't be keeping up with you too, did you, Commander?" Trip said. "And of course, all the _interesting _stuff's classified. I didn't get access to any of that until I got the clearance to go with the rank."

He turned his attention back to T'Pol suddenly, leaving Hess still off balance.

"But, that reminds me…she was in command of the _Enterprise _at Vulcan, during the _Kir'shara _thing." Trip said, suddenly animated. "That part I bet you didn't know."

T'Pol glanced casually back and forth between the two of them.

"Actually, I am aware of that." She said, haughtily. "She worked with Ambassador Soval, an associate of mine, in thwarting the corrupt intentions of Administrator V'Las. I understand it was largely due to her actions that he failed in his attempt to initiate hostilities with the Andorian fleet."

Trip grinned at that.

"You should tell her which Vulcan Intelligence team went into the Forge to arrest Archer." Trip said.

T'Pol hesitated.

"'Arrest' would not be an accurate…"

"T'Pol's unit." Trip said, speaking to her again now. "Tulok, T'Lea and some guy name Sevet."

Hess blinked at that, as she was finally getting over her shock and catching up with things.

"That was _you?" _She asked.

"Indeed." T'Pol said. "But the situation was not quite as…"

"You ended up helping Archer recover that _Kir'shara _thing." Hess said, still surprised. "I didn't realize that was you."

T'Pol seemed…almost offended.

"I believe it would be more accurate to say that Captain Archer aided _us _in recovering the _Kir'shara_."

"How come the Captain didn't mention that when you were on the _Enterprise_?"

"Yeah, thought that was a little weird myself." Trip said, frowning.

"I believe he did not recognize me."

"Wait, but…didn't you _shoot _at him on Vulcan?" Trip argued. "I read the report last night and…I'm pretty sure he kicked your butt when you tried to jump him. Or maybe that was Tulok."

"Captain Archer was under the influence of…a particularly unusual…"

"Right he had the _katra _thing in his head." Trip pondered. "Think that's why he didn't recognize you?"

T'Pol paused, obviously a little uncomfortable.

"I can't say."

Hess jumped back in then, as this was all news to her.

"How'd you end up helping him?" She asked. "He mentioned something about a Vulcan security team but I never got that part."

"I had a contact within the Syrannite faction." T'Pol said. "Captain Archer was actively aiding them in recovering the _Kir'shara_. Once I became aware that he did not pose a threat to that, I simply aided them as well. That is what I had gone into the Forge to do."

"Who was your contact? T'Pau?" Trip asked, curious himself now.

"No." T'Pol said. "That would be T'Les."

"Never heard of her." He said, chewing his cheek.

Then shrugged.

"Well, anyway. T'Pol here was supposed to be our Vulcan 'advisor' our first trip out." He said.

That much Hess knew, at least.

"Yeah, I heard that." She said. "And considering how she's advised the _Tempest _so far, I guess I'm glad we got stuck with Sokar."

Trip winced a bit.

"Right." He said. "Forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me, Hess."

Hess chuckled. "The Captain here _shot _Sokar on Archer IV…"

"Hey, I was…pollinated." He said, defensively. "And I'm still convinced he was trying to poison our canteens. He was little off his gourd too, you know."

"I would not characterize my purpose here as 'advisory'." T'Pol said, stiffly.

Hess…gave her a full double take at that.

Because…huh, what?

"Huh?" She asked.

T'Pol was almost glaring at her.

"I realize my actions so far have been counterproductive and that I have largely failed in my intended goal." She said. "Aiding the _Tempest _in her mission."

And she _was _practically glaring down at her where she sat.

"But I have freely admitted to this, Commander. And I am prepared to take whatever steps are required…"

Hess had her temper up by that point.

"Oh, hey!" Hess said, getting angry now. "I didn't mean to step on your toes, Commander. But if you're a little raw about it, maybe you should consider Trip here showed a lot of trust in you. And _you're _the one who blew it."

Trip was already frowning.

"Okay, hold on…

"As I've said," T'Pol responded coldly. "I am well aware of the situation. And I find being reminded of it by a Starfleet officer who's loyalties are so clearly undefined to be not in any way helpful."

Hess had her fingers dug in at the edge of the table before she realized it.

"My loyalties are my own damned business, Commander." Hess seethed. "Where do you get off even having an opinion about that?"

"Alright, stop." Trip tried again.

"Pursuant to my _purpose _on this vessel would be identifying potential security risks." T'Pol replied, tightly. "Risks of which the _Tempest _has more than her share. Not the least being the apparent adoption of an officer who defected from a vessel only recently engaged in combat. That being mostly, or perhaps exclusively, the result of an emotional attachment to the Captain of this vessel…"

Hess on her feet instantly, squaring off furiously on the Vulcan.

Eyes flaring, fists clenched.

And T'Pol turned to face her, not in the least intimidated.

"And it's a good thing I'm here!" Hess snapped. "I think it's more than a little obvious what 'attachment' you're afraid I might get in the way of!"

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow up at that one.

"Hardly." She said, evenly. "But if you must pretend so in order to explain your own failure…"

"_Alright, that's enough!" _Trip yelled, coming to his feet now.

"Trip…" Hess started.

"No! Enough!" He interrupted.

"Captain…" T'Pol began.

"_Enough!"_

Trip stood, hands on his hips.

Glaring at them both.

Waiting for the next word spoken, so he could break _that _off, too.

But the two just went right back to glaring at each other instead. And that was good enough.

"I'm Captain of this ship." Trip said, firmly. "And if you're _on _this ship, then you're under my command. Both of you. Is that clear?"

T'Pol looked like she was going to say something…

"Don't even think about it, T'Pol." He snapped. "Technically under my command is still under my command. So from here on out, that's how it is. You've got a copy of the Starfleet general orders and regulations on your PADD, if you need to brush up.

"And, Hess. Kidnapped, jumped ship, AWOL, whatever…I've at least got rank on you. I don't appreciate being put in a position to have to _pull _rank…but I'll do it. Don't make me. If you're here, then you're crew and I'm your Captain.

"Now, this is over. Whatever your problem is with each other, you leave in your quarters. There's no place for it out here. We've a got a _mission_…and that doesn't leave room for _this_. Got it?"

T'Pol spoke first, of course.

"Naturally, Captain." She said. Still locking eyes with Hess. "I have no issue with that."

"Me, either." Hess snapped, not about to be left hanging here.

"Good." Trip said, immediately

But they were still glaring at each other.

Which was _not _good.

"T'Pol," He said. "Was there something you wanted? I figured we'd get to that some time _after _I was able to politely introduce you two to each other. But since all _this _happened instead, what did you need?"

T'Pol didn't break eye contact with Hess.

Not so much as a flicker.

"I intended to request individual personnel quarters for myself and my team." She said, still staring Hess down. "It would seem quarters of choice are readily available…"

"That's fine." Trip said. "Should have thought of that myself. Take your pick, just check with Jenson first. Most of the crew…well, they didn't exactly have a chance to pack."

"I understand, Captain."

And, no, not so much as a glance his way.

"Okay, so…go do that. Dismissed."

T'Pol nodded slightly. And turned away to go do that.

Keeping eye contact with Hess until that was physically _impossible _before finally…thankfully…_not _throwing down with her in the middle of the Mess Hall.

Hess stared after her, still fuming.

Fists clenched.

"Hess…" Trip said, carefully.

"That…_unbelievable_…Vulcan…" Hess sputtered.

"…maybe you should go on down to Engineering." He finished.

That got her attention.

Her fists even eased up a bit.

"Trip…" She said, looking his way now.

"We need that Echo system ready to go as soon as we can…"

"Wha…but…" Hess stuttered.

"…and I've got to get back to the bridge."

Hess stared.

Then…after a moment…stiffened up a little. Just enough to be noticeable.

"I'm sorry, Hess, but we really do have…"

"It's fine." Hess said, stiffly. "I'll just get back to work."

Trip sighed shortly.

"Hess…"

"It's fine." She insisted. And at least her voice softened up a little. "We'll catch up again later."

So…Trip nodded at that.

And she took her tray from the table, turning away to dispose of it before leaving. Off to Engineering to get back to work.

Trip watched, uncomfortable.

Because, no. He hadn't handled that very well at all. Not even a little bit.

He allowed himself a good, solid sigh of self-disappointment once she was gone. Then picked up his own tray to follow suit.

"I was kind of hoping for a catfight."

Trip looked up, surprised. To find Benning leaning casually against the doorframe in the galley.

When the heck had _he _arrived? And how had he gone right into the galley without him even noticing?

Trip frowned, though.

"We've got too many women on this ship, Benning." Trip snorted. "Hate to say it...but I might need you to keep an eye on those two in particular."

"Yes, that was a little tense." Benning grinned.

Trip nodded. "And a catfight, Richard? You do know T'Pol's Vulcan, right?"

"I'd have stepped in before it got _that _bad, sir." Benning assured.

Trip dumped his tray and tossed into up on the counter with the handful of others there.

"I can't believe that just happened." He wondered, shaking his head.

"Right, sir." Benning nodded. "Can't imagine _what _that could have been all about."

Yeah, that was...

Wait, what?

"What do you mean?" Trip asked.

But Benning just looked back at him, grinning ever so slightly.

Trip huffed.

"Look, I was just trying to…"

Benning tossed his brow up. Because he was interested, of course.

Trip frowned. "I was just…I figured maybe if I could…"

Benning nodded, agreeably. Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

"Look, just get back to work." Trip said, sharply.

Benning shrugged.

"I was going to grab a bite to eat, sir. But if you think…"

"Well…do that then. And then get back to work."

"Yes, sir." Benning nodded.

"Okay, then."

A quick awkward moment.

Until Trip realized he could just leave now. And how that was probably a good idea or something.

So he left.

Leaving Benning to grin and shake his head, turning to hit the galley and fix himself a meal. Amused no little amount at the interesting things that happened in the Mess Hall around here.


	34. Chapter 34

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Engineering (Lower), Deck C**

Commander Hess frowned at the…thing. A shuttle-sized generator of some sort with a mass of…_devices _tacked onto it. Literally tacked on in some cases. She could see the weld points.

Thick wiring ran out in all directions to conduits in the walls of the room, carrying the infused plasma to Echo nodes all throughout the ship's hull. Most of those lines looped about on the floor, with nothing but type four insulation wrapped around them secured with duct tape.

It hadn't even been coated with a base or had the rough buffed off the edges.

And it hummed. Loudly.

Hummed in a pretty intimidating manner, in point of fact.

She would have known at a glance that Tucker had built this thing. It was practically a textbook example of kludge engineering.

"Kludge engineering?" Shran asked, curiously.

Because of course, Hess had said that out loud.

Surprisingly, T'Lea answered before she could…from where she stood in the doorway behind them, having proven unwilling to approach the generator directly.

"A kludge is an aerospace engineering term." She said. "It indicates a temporary design using separate commonly available components. A design that is not considered flight worthy but utilized to proof the design and enable concurrent software development while the integrated components are developed and manufactured in the interim."

Hess gave her a surprised look. Surprised but impressed nonetheless.

"I wouldn't have thought Vulcans were familiar with that." She said. "I can't imagine your engineers proofing a design that way."

"They would not." T'Lea said. "If the device were considered sound enough to warrant prototype testing…then we would construct a prototype and test it."

Shran chuckled at that. Even as Hess frowned.

"It's actually a good way to proof a design." Hess argued, still eyeing the thing. Trying to identify all the parts and match them with the schematic on her PADD. Because the schematic and the Echo generator itself…they didn't quite match exactly.

"Just use whatever generic parts you can find that fit." She explained, scanning the generator. "_Make _whatever parts fit that don't. Work out all the bugs and kinks. In the process you learn a lot about what the actual design will look like. You get a jump start on things and are better prepared to test that prototype…and what the heck _is _this thing right here?"

"Tetryon compilor." Shran said, instantly.

Hess frowned, comparing the actuality of the thing with the schematic again.

"That's not where the tetryon compiler is supposed to be…"

"It's not anywhere else." Shran snapped. "So that's got to be it. And it _looks _like it."

T'Lea spoke again. From the doorway.

"That particular component does seem to be recompiling tetryon particles before they reach the particle infuser." She said.

Hess glanced back again. And T'Lea had a Vulcan scanner of some sort in hand now, referencing it.

"You can pick that up way back there?" She asked.

T'Lea gave her an eyebrow. "Of course."

Hess shook her head. "I've got to get me one of those. I'm barely picking up tetryon emissions at all and I've got an engineering scanner. And I'm standing right here on top of it."

"So that's the tetryon compiler." Shran said firmly. "And if it's _there _instead of _here _where it's supposed to be…then that means this over here _is _the plasma conduit main router."

"That is of course the main router." T'Lea said.

"If that really _is _the main router," Hess wondered. "Then why isn't this thing working?"

"The power converter is active." Shran said, grumpily. "We're getting power to all the nodes. The compiler is prepping tetryon particles for the infuser and the infuser is mixing everything with the plasma flowing through the conduits to the node components…"

"But it's still not working." Hess frowned. "Everything's doing what it's supposed to do, but…it's got to be some conflict at the nodes, not here. Some conflict with the system silent interface."

"There's one little thing not plugged in right somewhere." Shran growled. "That's throwing everything off. We have to go back and check it all again."

"Let's just rerun the power up sequence." Hess said. "Take a second look at that. Maybe we missed something…"

"I am monitoring the infused plasma flow along all constituent conduits." T'Lea announced. "I see no apparent conflict with integrated system silent components at the nodes."

Hess glanced back yet again. And yes, T'Lea was apparently doing that on her Vulcan PADD.

That was starting to get on her nerves.

"She's impressive, isn't she?" Shran said, smirking.

Hess gave that a second glance. Because that was almost out of character with just about everything else the Andorian engineer had said and done since they'd met.

Shran noticed the look.

"What?" She growled, already paranoid.

"Nothing." Hess frowned, returning her attention to the Echo generator.

And there was…what was that thing there again?

She checked the schematic. Then finally decided to just go ahead and take the time to update the thing.

She tapped the edit function, dragging the various components around from where the schematic insisted they were to where they _actually _were…noticing a few other minor modifications that had occurred sometime since the schematic was drawn in the process of that. And she was starting to get an idea why Trip had changed things…

So, okay. _Now _the layout made more sense.

But that little thing there wasn't on the schematic at all.

"I'm starting to wonder if we'd have been better off without a schematic to go by." She said. "We probably would have figured this out already."

"That's not on the schematic." Shran said, having noticed it herself. "What is that? It looks like a plug but I don't recognize…"

"That is a constant bus port." T'Lea announced. "Handmade or…'kludged' itself. I would assume it is meant to receive the computer core access line you disconnected when you arrived, Commander."

Hess nearly slapped a frustrated hand to her forehead.

Because, right. It had been in the way of her examining the plasma conduit main router. About half an hour ago.

She snatched at the cord dangling near to hand.

"Okay," She ordered, over her shoulder. "Go back to junction 4C and rerun the power up sequence."

"I took the liberty of creating a remote access on my PADD." T'Lea said, already tapping at it. "In order to avoid having to walk back to junction 4C for the sixth time."

"Just do it." Hess said, plugging in the cord.

But T'Lea had taken the liberty of sending the command from her PADD to the maintenance remote access at junction 4C as well.

So the Echo generator had already powered down. And it came back online again in debug mode precisely when Hess plugged in the cord.

The generator worked, now that it was able to receive remote confirmation from the ship's computer. And T'Lea's PADD immediately confirmed this, indicating the _Tempest _was successfully generating a stable Echo field, without the wildly varying power fluctuations that had burned out the system previously.

It still required a significant amount of power in order to operate however. Much more than it had before, even when both systems had been running independently. But that had been expected.

T'Lea wasn't able to confirm any of this yet though. And she wouldn't for nearly another hour. Because of the thing that had not been expected.

That being the sight of Commander Hess being thrown back from the generator. Compelled entirely off her feet by the sudden, sharp tensing of the muscles in her body in response to the shock she'd just suffered.

T'Lea was quick but she still surprised herself reacting as effectively as she did. Dropping the PADD, stepping forward and snatching the Human engineer out of the air before she impacted the far wall.

Then immediately dropping her to the floor again.

Because she was already surprised and the sight of what had happened to Commander Hess was one she simply wasn't able to respond to logically.

* * *

><p>Doctor Andrews ran the medical scanner over her where she sat on the recovery bed.<p>

Ran it over her for the _third _time, brow furrowed in concentration.

Mostly just paying attention to the readings and trying to interpret them, because that was difficult enough. But a small part of that concentration was required simply for the process of scanning her to begin with.

It was a little hard to tell exactly where she was sitting.

"There's no pain?" He asked. "No discomfort or odd sensation?"

"I'm a little…_tingly_. But other than that, no. I feel fine."

Commander Benning stood at the foot of the bed, his arms folded at his chest. And he chuckled and grinned at her.

Or…in her general direction, anyway. Which was the best he was able to do.

"Congratulations, Commander." He grinned. "I'd say you've discovered a whole new application for the Echo system."

"That's not supposed to happen." Shran insisted immediately. Where she stood by the recovery bed. Frowning at everything.

"No idea _how _this happened?" Benning asked.

"No." Shran repeated. "Because this isn't _supposed _to happen. It _shouldn't _have happened. So of course I don't know _how _it happened."

Doctor Andrews lowered the scanner, looking…a bit stumped.

"If I had to guess," He said. "And I suppose I'm forced to guess here…Commander Hess was exposed to a high dose of that Echo system particle mix."

"Yes, obviously." Shran said, flatly. "_That's _the thing that shouldn't have happened."

They all stared at Hess for a moment.

Or…the flickering, chaotically roiling mass of _blur _sitting on the recovery bed where Hess was supposed to be.

"The surge protectors on the line tripped." Shran said, reasoning it out. "So obviously whatever hit her triggered that. I just can't figure out how that particle mix jumped from the distributor to the bus port…"

"Can we maybe focus on the part about how I'm infused with Echo particles?" Hess suddenly insisted. "Because that's the part _I'm _interested in."

"Not to worry, Commander." Andrews assured her. "There shouldn't be any serious long term effects. Not that I'll be able to tell exactly, since I'm having a hard time scanning you…"

"So what am I supposed to do?" The blur on the recovery bed demanded. "How long is this going to last?"

"It should be temporary…"

"How do you even know that?"

"Echo particles." Shran said, frowning at the blur. "Of course it's temporary. I wish we _could _make it permanent."

Shran sensed the blur was glaring at her, though.

"For the ship, I mean." She smirked.

Commander T'Pol entered sickbay, with Subaltern T'Lea following close behind.

And she slowed dramatically when she spotted the blur, until she came to a complete stop halfway to the recovery bed.

Then slowly raised one eyebrow at the curious sight before her.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Vulcan." Hess snapped.

T'Pol just stared…before turning to T'Lea, raising one hand to indicate the blur on the bed.

"This is Commander Hess?" She asked.

"It is." T'Lea acknowledged. "The shock seems to have had an unexpected side effect."

T'Pol turned back to reexamine the blur. And raised the curious eyebrow again.

"Indeed." She said.

With perhaps the barest hint of humor in her voice.

"Isn't there any way to fix this?" Hess demanded.

Because that was just too much to bear.

"Commander," Andrews said, smiling. "You're an engineer and you know as much about this Echo particle thing as I do. More, really, since I don't know all that much. But you know it's not something we're going to able to just flush out with a…"

Captain Tucker entered sickbay.

Moving quickly, looking worried. Coming to check on a friend and fellow engineer, who he understood has suffered some kind of…

The blur on the bed, though.

That stopped him dead in his tracks.

"What the hell is _that?" _He demanded.

T'Pol, fortunately enough, was immediately at hand to explain.

"That is Commander Hess." She said, helpfully.

Trip looked back and forth between the two of them for a second anyway.

Because that didn't _look _like…

"Hess?" He asked, tentatively.

The blur sighed.

"Yes, it's me."

"What happened…? Is she okay, Doc?"

"She's fine." Andrews assured. "I'll have to keep her here overnight for observation…or so to speak. But I'm sure it's temporary."

Trip squinted, thinking.

"Did you unplug the computer access…?"

"Yes. I did." Hess said, testily. "It was in the way."

Trip winced.

"Uh…okay. Yeah, that's what happened."

"_What _happened?" Shran immediately demanded.

Trip shrugged slightly. Apologetically, even.

"That's…a long story." He said. "That's why Hess was on the team. I figured she'd recognize the infusion matrix…"

"Wait…" Hess said. "Infusion matr-…? This is the same thing that happened to Kelby, when we were trying to get that Suliban cell ship's cloak to work."

"Uh…yeah." Trip said, wincing again.

"That's where you got the idea to…? This is Suliban cloaking tech?"

"As close as we could figure it out, yeah." Trip said, shrugging a little. "We never could determine how they powered the thing…"

"I didn't realize." Hess said, a little amazed. "I should have recognized that. Why didn't you mention it?"

"I was _going _to mention it, but I never got the chance." Trip frowned. "It's still pretty heavily classified, so I couldn't just drop a note in the assignment overview…"

"Hold on." Benning said. "Cloaking tech? Like the Romulans use? Why don't _we _have that?"

"Takes too much power." Hess said. "We know how it works…in fact, we know a hundred different _ways _to make it work…it's powering the thing that's the problem."

Trip shrugged. "So Echo…that's the best we can do right now. Just…make things a little blurry."

"A little?" Hess objected. "Just look at me! Do I look _a little _blurry right now?"

Doctor Andrews reasserted himself immediately.

"Calm down, Commander." He said, soothingly. "It will pass. We just need to give your body time to do what it's already very well designed to do."

"How long is _that _going to take?" Hess demanded.

"It's hard to say…" Andrews began.

But Shran cut him off. "I figure about twenty-four hours."

Hess groaned. "A whole day?"

"You sure she's alright, Doc?" Trip demanded.

"As far as I can tell, she's fine." Andrews assured. "I'm afraid she'll have to miss movie night, but that should be the full extent of the negative here."

Movie…?

Oh, no.

Yeah, maybe Trip had meant to bring up the infusion matrix thing at dinner…but _she'd _meant to bring up movie night…

Hess snapped her attention to Commander T'Pol. Not that anyone probably noticed.

And if T'Pol noticed, just standing there watching her…doing everything _but _laughing at her…she didn't give any indication of it...

"Captain." T'Pol said, turning her attention to him now.

And Hess just freaking knew, instantly.

"I may have some insights into the condition Commander Hess suffers from." She said, helpfully. "While it is true that the Vulcan Science Directorate has made no more progress in developing functional cloaking capability than your own people have, I have encountered similar technology several times. I cannot say I have witnessed this particular effect…"

"You've got some idea how this happens?" Trip asked, immediately. "Something we can do about it?"

"I cannot say." T'Pol admitted. "But it is possible. Perhaps if we compare our knowledge and personal experience we might gain some insight?"

"It's fine." Hess said, quickly. "Just forget about it. It'll pass, like Doctor Andrews said. And I could use a break anyway. And I'll just…"

"That is unnecessary." T'Pol assured. "If there is any way to hasten your recovery, we should avail ourselves of that. You are a valuable member of the engineering team…"

"It's fine." Hess insisted. "I can just spend the night here."

"Hess," Trip said, worriedly. "I don't like the idea of you just sitting here…_blurring_…"

"I'll be okay."

"Very well." T'Pol conceded. "And if Commander Hess shares the work ethic of most Human engineers I've encountered, perhaps a forced period of rest would be beneficial. She has labored with little rest since her arrival, Captain."

Trip chewed his cheek, thinking that over. Then nodded.

"Okay, alright. And yeah, I guess I have been working you pretty hard, Hess…"

"It's fine, Trip." Hess assured. "I like the work. But, yeah, I'll just rest here for a while until this passes. We got the Echo system working anyway."

Trip snorted, chuckling. "I guess you did. Take the next twenty-four off, Commander. I'll have Alice copy the movie down here for you. You and Andrews won't be completely left out, at least."

"Sounds good. Thanks, Trip."

"Doc, you take care of her, alright?" He said, sparing the Doctor a moment's attention. "Anything goes wrong down here, I'm taking it out of your supply budget."

Andrews smirked and nodded. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Trip nodded. "Okay, then. Hess, you get some rest. And I mean, get some actual _rest_…and I'll check in on you tonight."

Hess nodded.

Then realized that probably hadn't accomplished anything.

"You got it, Trip." She said.

He nodded again.

And that was that. Everyone shifted, ready to depart. To leave her to rest and recover and all that jazz.

Which…really, yeah she _could _use that. Even if it meant being stuck in _here_…

The Captain left the sickbay first, sort of leading the pack.

And T'Pol was right beside him.

"Captain, concerning movie night. I understand it is customary to attend with a partner…?"


	35. Chapter 35

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Main Corridor, Deck B**

That Commander Hess had overheard the question was not in the least unintentional. T'Pol was quite aware of the average effective aural range at which a Human could be expected to overhear such a remark. And so it had been delivered just exactly at that optimal range. Enough that Hess would hear but enough as well that any expected response by Captain Tucker, delivered then beyond the door of sickbay and in the confines of the corridor outside, would not.

Perhaps a seemingly dishonorable tack to take…but it arguably served her interests that Commander Hess be made fully aware of her capabilities. Even if only in this small way, illustrating the simple ability to manipulate an unexpected situation to her own benefit. And decidedly against the Commander's own.

Hess was apparently not fully aware of exactly who it was she'd decided to array herself against. Better that she be somewhat more cognizant of that and be granted the opportunity to withdraw…before becoming someone that T'Pol had to address seriously as a potential rival.

It was of course entirely irrelevant to her personally if the Commander pursued an intimate relationship with the Captain. But that did present an obstacle to her own goals here and threatened to weaken her already fragile position with the crew of the vessel. That Commander Hess might use a position of intimacy with the Captain against her and her team was not at all unthinkable. She'd already expressed hostility in that arena and such a position would likely only serve to embolden her further in that regard. And there still remained the issue of Commander Hess being something of a security risk. If only in principle.

She fully expected that Captain Tucker would be surprised at the question...and the suggestion...and so she predicted an uncomfortable and awkward attempt to redirect. For which she was prepared, intending to correct any misunderstanding and redirect the conversation herself. To the subject of Major Tulok and Commander Song, who would be attending movie night together.

Thus from there to a comfortable examination of the potential fallout from that, in regards to the crew and their perceptions of it. Which would nonetheless serve to plant the idea in his mind, giving him opportunity to examine and accept the prospect of sharing such intimacies with her. And thus lay the groundwork for her to build upon, in repairing the fractured trust in their own relationship.

All entirely logical and well reasoned. So she was confident in her course.

However…Captain Tucker did not appear awkward or uncomfortable with the question at all. And that left her somewhat awkward and uncomfortable herself, being unprepared for that.

"I guess it's kinda customary, Commander." He said, comfortably. "You looking for someone you can go with?"

She stumbled, of course.

Slightly. For a brief moment. Before recovering quickly.

"I…have not yet reached a decision whether to attend…"

"You should. If you're going to be working with a Human crew then taking part in social events like this would be a good idea."

"I see. Then I suppose I should consider…"

"I hadn't decided whether to go myself." Tucker said, shrugging. "Probably for the same reason. Who would I go with? But I don't think it'd hurt if we went together. Even if we just walked in the door together. Might help the crew be a little more comfortable with you, seeing you there. Then you'd have a better chance of making a few friends around here."

That…was, of course, a compelling argument but…

"I gotta admit I'm real curious what you'd think of the movie." He continued. "Maybe not the pick _I'd _make for your first movie but…I bet your perspective on things would be real interesting."

"I am not unfamiliar with that form of entertainment media." T'Pol corrected. "Although, I have only witnessed it in passing, in the pursuit of duty. Surveilling a target, for example, who happened to attend one. I have never actively viewed one in its entirety."

"Well then you definitely shouldn't miss the opportunity." He insisted. "Especially if you've got plenty of logical reasons to go."

Of course, that _was _perfectly logical.

"Then I suppose I should." T'Pol agreed. "However, I would be concerned our being perceived as attending together might cause some disruption or discomfort…"

"Don't worry about that." He assured. "Things are a little shaky right now, but it'll settle down. And this is exactly the sort of thing that helps settle things down. Give 'em all something to talk about, if they're going to talk anyway. And, like I said, if you make a few friends then they'll be more inclined to talk favorably."

Again, a compelling argument.

And useful advice as well, perhaps best followed.

So, perhaps…

"Very well." She agreed. "If you believe it would be helpful."

"Sure." He grinned, shrugging. "Movie night kicks off in about half an hour. No reason why we can't run on ahead and get a good seat."

"That would be agreeable, Captain." She said, agreeably.

Correcting herself internally immediately thereafter.

Acceptable. That would be _acceptable_.

* * *

><p>T'Pol was confronted with the glaring factual absurdities of the film from almost the opening scene. The vague explanation given for the violent criminal species' ability to absorb the physical form and even memories of their victims left much to be desired. And once able to grapple directly with their prey they somehow absorbed them completely in a surprisingly short time. Mere moments, though that seemed to vary somewhat.<p>

None of this was ever adequately explained, beyond an apparent begrudging reference to cellular mitosis. Which of course had no relevance to any possible mechanism for that ability at all.

Furthermore they seemed to gain no equivalent increase in mass from the method of homicide they employed. She noticed one of the criminals even managed to absorb a total of _seven _Human victims before a secondary character successfully immolated them in self defense.

Nowhere was it illustrated how the issue of mass was resolved. That one in particular had still been able to take the form of one of its victims without any apparent difficult. Being no more massive in size than the initial victim.

Motivation at least seemed to earn several general indications. The species as a whole were driven by emotional indulgence, deriving significant pleasure from the unique form of violent murder and cannibalism they employed. Their ability to assume the shape and adopt the memories of their victims allowing them to indulge in yet another form of sadistic enjoyment prior to that.

Insinuating themselves among the victims and either using preexisting relationships to draw individuals away to be murdered…or even establishing entirely new relationships with others in order to do so.

Nevertheless, how such a species could exist independently and achieve the level of civilization necessary to attain warp travel merely to indulge in 'hunting expeditions'…no attempt to explain that was ever made. Which was logical enough, as it was clearly an impossibility. Surely this species would have consumed themselves, literally, long before that.

Not to mention…they seemed oddly inept at the very thing supposedly making them such a threat. They very often failed in utilizing the absorbed memories of their victims effectively, in ways that were presented as humorous. And their ability to retain the physical forms of their victims likewise failed inexplicably at the most humorously convenient times.

They were, overall…oddly unintelligent, showing little to no critical thinking skills. Just as those Humans who fell prey to them were presented as having done so for largely the same reasons.

By the time the film entered its third act, with the relatively small number of Human survivors now fortified in the seaside tavern, T'Pol realized why none of that was actually relevant. And so realized why it had been granted so little attention.

The movie was not logical, nor was it ever intended to be.

It was emotional. Conceived and implemented entirely for the purpose of evoking particular emotional responses as a form of entertainment.

It was irrelevant whether the nature, behavior and abilities of the aggressor species could be adequately explained. They existed solely in order to present a particular form of threat to the Human characters. The characters themselves carefully chosen and those roles performed precisely in order to provoke empathy as they responded to that threat.

That empathy then, in turn, manipulated in order to provoke emotional responses from the audience. Particular responses, to specific degrees and for almost exact durations of time. And all of that along what was obviously a predetermined formula as the film progressed.

With that new perspective…T'Pol was surprised to find the film she had until then thought pointless and illogical…

Was actually quite brilliant. Almost stunning in its ability to achieve what it was obviously intended to achieve.

She began to realize why this form of entertainment was so popular among the Humans and many other similar species. And why it had existed for so long, even declared a form of art.

It was indeed a form of art. An amazingly…almost wondrously…effective form, in fact.

Having realized this, T'Pol began to take note of the reactions of the Humans in the conference room as the events unfolded on the screen. Specifically Captain Tucker, as he sat directly across the table from her. Immersed as he was in the film, his emotional expressions were even more open and easy to discern than normal.

He was shocked and horrified when it was revealed that the character 'Watson' had been a sadistic shapeshifting cannibalistic murderer since the first act. Greatly dismayed when the character Alisa was lured away and devoured by what she clearly thought was her lover, as it seemed he'd hoped that character would survive the situation somehow. Angry when Bertram betrayed his fellow survivors in a bid to save himself…then both satisfied and regretful when that bid failed and he fell into the clutches of no less than six of the murderers at once.

During the final act of the film, He finally noticed that she observed his reactions. Specifically during an admittedly powerful scene in which Cooper and Kalella shared an inappropriately detailed moment of intimacy. And at that time at least, T'Pol observed him as much to avoid the shame of observing that portrayal. Fictional though it may have been, it illustrated an intimate and private moment between _t'hy'la_. And so was entirely shameful to witness.

But she was nearly shocked to find he noticed her _then_. At that moment. When so far he'd been so immersed in the film that she easily avoided his doing so.

Because it was readily apparent that the intimate moment he witnessed brought her to mind. And so he glanced over at her then…to find her watching him.

That was quite intriguing.

Of course she was fully aware that he found her attractive in the physical sense. Which, for a Human, naturally involved attraction in the sexual sense to a much larger degree than mere aesthetic appreciation. But nevertheless.

And she was aware of course of the rapport they'd managed to attain, and so easily maintained, almost from the beginning. At least until recent events had seemed to sever that abruptly.

But that his observing a fictionally portrayed moment of intimacy, even provoked by seemingly impending violent death as it were…that this would cause him to think of her and look to her for that reason…

Intriguing.

If not entirely unexpected.

* * *

><p>In the main corridor outside the conference room…she watched him some more. Pondering the things that had since occurred to her and the change of perspective resulting from that.<p>

And waiting for the opportunity to address a few points concerning the movie as well.

He noticed her waiting and watching, as he offered the appropriate greetings and farewells to his subordinates as they exited the conference room. A few short sharings of appreciation for this scene or that. Critiques of the film, all offered briefly and in passing, seemingly something required as part of the social event overall.

It ended soon. And they were left alone together in the corridor, with only a few crewman still only technically present and already in the act of departing.

"What?" He asked, curiously.

"The Vulcan character who was…devoured in the first act." She said, jumping right in. "I am curious why he was played by a Human when Vulcan actors must surely have been available on Proxima."

Trip winced, grinning.

Which T'Pol found curious, that he successfully projected both non-verbal communications at once, despite their being almost entirely contradictory.

"Didn't think you'd miss that." He said. "But I bet that's not a question. You already know why."

"I assume it would be more convenient to find a Human actor to play that part." She said. "A Vulcan actor may well have been reluctant. The character was clearly a caricature."

"And a Vulcan probably couldn't have pulled that off." Tucker suggested.

"Vulcan actors are typically quite adept." T'Pol argued. "Our disciplines lend themselves well to acting, if not to the level of emotional expressiveness that I assume a Human movie would require. That role, however, would have been better served by a Vulcan actor."

"That would have painful to watch." Trip said, wincing slightly again. "Like you said, he was a joke."

"Another point." She continued. "No Vulcan would have stood and watched curiously as a sadistically homicidal villain approached to devour them. Nor would they have done nothing more than remark that the situation was illogical as they were being devoured. The situation was of course entirely logical. Having offered no resistance to the act of being cannibalized, then the act of cannibalism would of course occur without resistance. That is quite logical."

To her surprise, Captain Tucker found that humorous. Even laughing for a short moment.

So she made note to reexamine that statement later in order to determine precisely why. As she still found the mastery of humor elusive.

"Vulcans are easy targets, Commander." He said, still grinning. "I'm sure you've noticed over the years."

"Indeed. And it continues to puzzle me somewhat, even as I understand the impulse to express contempt passively in regards to one's superiors."

He chuckled again. So again…mental note.

And he suddenly changed directions. Practically leaping upon her unawares, wielding perhaps the most effective weapon against her that he could have availed himself of at that moment.

"So what did you think of the final scene between Cooper and Kalella?" He asked.

T'Pol…required a brief moment to recover from the shock of that. That he would bring it up so suddenly, when it suggested so much…

"I noticed you looking over at that point." He offered. With perhaps the slightest suggestion of a smirk there…

"I…found it curious." She said, then hastened to correct that. "Which is to say…inappropriate. That the scene would be included in the film so casually, seemingly required in fact, when it portrayed an intimate moment between obvious _t'hy'la."_

"_T'hy'la?" _Trip pounced.

"Intimate friends or…lovers." She explained, reluctantly. And uncomfortably.

"Right." He nodded. "If it helps, spying on things like that isn't something we find appropriate either. But in a film or novel…something like that…we don't mind. It's not real."

"Of course. But nevertheless, I found it inappropriate to witness from a third person perspective."

"And first person?" He asked.

Smirking obviously now. And…flirtatiously.

Which, again, she found somewhat discomfiting.

"I am, of course, not averse to…intimacies with _t'hy'la_. It is a healthy and natural emotional state, one of few that are beneficial. It serves a logical and productive purpose."

"Good to know." He nodded. "Did you get the reference to Risa?"

T'Pol was beginning to feel unbalanced here…he suggested much, and so casually, while constantly changing the topic…

"I am uncertain." She said. "Cooper's sudden, apparently non sequitur reference to the sunset on Risa may possibly have been a reference not to the sunset specifically, but to their initial encounter there. Revealed during a flashback sequence in act two."

"There's a lot of subtle suggestions there, though." Tucker said. "First, it was a sort of test to be sure that really _was _Kalella. One of those 'scanatics' probably wouldn't have said just the right thing in response. Remember Harpa in the first part of the movie? So he was testing Kalella to be sure. And, at the same time, in case it _was _her, letting her know it was him. Because a scanatic wouldn't have realized how the sunset reference fit."

"Being unable to perceive the thermal spectrum as a Human would," T'Pol noted. "And so not realizing the reflection of the burning building in the ocean surface they overlooked matched that sunset almost perfectly. Kalella clearly made note of this."

"Right." Tucker grinned. "Plus by referencing that, assuming it _was _Kalella, he was affirming their renewed relationship by recalling the promises they made back on Risa all those months ago."

T'Pol considered that, having not realized that at all.

"An interesting point." She said, curiously. "I missed that element of the reference. Are you certain it was intentional?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"This makes the conversation and their behavior following it all more relevant to one another." T'Pol decided. "Naturally it would follow that as an emotional species they would compelled to engage in sexual relations at that point in order to further affirm..."

Tucker visibly started.

"Sexu-…what? They just kissed." He said, blinking.

T'Pol cocked any eyebrow at that.

"Yes, of course."

"That's…not sexual relations, T'Pol."

"The mutual stimulation of erogenous zones," She argued. "Especially as an act of shared intimacy. That of course constitutes sexual relations."

Tucker stared at her.

Until she found herself somewhat baffled that he seemed unable to recognize the obvious.

Except…

"Of course." She said, nodding. "As a Human, I suppose you would not recognize that as sexual in nature."

"Well…sure. A little." He said, off balance himself now. "But not necessarily. And it's not something you'd _consider _sexual so much anyway. At least not enough to actually _call _it sexual…"

"Is it truly possible for a Human to engage in that level of intimacy without it being a sexual act?"

"Well, sure." He said. "I used to kiss my sister all the time. Or…well, not on the _lips _but…there's lots of things like that. Intimate and…physical, I guess. A kiss on the cheek, a hug, holding hands…maybe even dancing. None of that's really _sexual_."

T'Pol considered.

"Fascinating." She noted.

"Vulcan don't do anything like that?" Tucker asked, curious himself.

"Of course." She said. "But not openly and certainly not in a public venue. Nor would we allow such behavior to be filmed for review, even in a fictional medium. Those are behaviors limited entirely to family, _t'hy'la _and bondmates. They are extremely private."

"And that's not considered sexual?"

"Vulcan mating is seasonal." T'Pol pointed out. "Cyclic, more accurately. Very little is sexual outside _pon'farr_."

Tucker considered that. Examining the opposite wall critically as he did so.

Critically enough that T'Pol was tempted to look over her shoulder at the wall. In case there actually _was _something there that he considered.

"So…just to clarify…" He said. "You could kiss a guy, like Cooper and Kalella kissed…and you wouldn't find that…"

He paused, searching for the most accurate…

"Arousing." He decided.

T'Pol considered that.

"No." She decided. "Intimate certainly, but not sexually arousing."

"Even buck naked on the beach with that sunset on Risa."

T'Pol considered _that_.

"No. All the more intimate but I would not find that arousing."

Tucker propped both eyebrows up at that.

"Okay, now _that's _fascinating." He declared. "So nothing turns you on if you're not…I mean, if it's not…you know, with the _pon'farr _thing?"

"Very little."

His eyes narrowed at that, obviously tempted to curiosity now.

"Like what, for instance?"

T'Pol opened her mouth to answer…

…then realized, at last.

"We have approached the point where further discussion would be inappropriate." She said. "In fact…I believe we reached and exceeded that point several moments ago."

Tucker chuckled.

"Right, I'm pushing my luck here. Got it."

That…wasn't at all what she'd meant. She was merely pointing out…

But he was considering her critically again now. Enough that she was tempted to discomfort, despite somehow finding his inspection quite agreeable at the same time.

"Come on over to the ready room, Commander." He said, after a moment. "There's something I think I oughta show you."

T'Pol immediately balked.

Not visibly, of course. But the prospect of yet _another _confrontation in the ready room…

Over what, she could not imagine, as it seemed all her secrets had _already _been exposed to scrutiny…

"It's not that bad." He said, apparently detecting her concerns. "Or…maybe. Might be. But there's a couple of things I think you and I need to have settled."

That was…dreadful.

But she was Vulcan, so she would of course persevere.

"Certainly, Captain." She said, agreeably. Even if she found the prospect not at all agreeable.


	36. Chapter 36

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Sickbay, Deck B**

Hess stood uncomfortably. In nothing but her underwear.

Which was ridiculous because it didn't even matter in about ten different ways.

Never mind that guy was a doctor to begin with and this was just an archaic version of your standard physical exam…he couldn't even see her. And if anyone had happened to walk in just then…_they _couldn't see her either.

She might as well have been doing the…whatever you call that dance…with the peacock feathers…

He was poking her in the _stomach _now. And what the heck was _that _supposed to determine?

She huffed a bit.

"So I don't get how this works. You can't scan me."

"Not with any accuracy, but doctors have been performing routine physical examinations for a very long time. The old fashioned methods are tried and true."

Hess sighed.

"Just relax." Andrews said.

"It's cold in here." She grumped.

"Helps prevent bacterial growth." He said.

And now he stood before her with his fingers lodged in her throat. After patting her blindly about the face for a minute, anyway.

Looking for lymph nodes, she figured.

"Warm, dark and wet." Andrews said. "Ideal conditions for bacteria, so we don't allow that in here."

She snorted a bit. Which was about as close to making the joke that popped into her head just then as she was going to get, thank you.

"What shift is it, Commander?" He asked.

"Gamma."

"Current president of Earth is…?"

"Lydia Littlejohn." Hess sighed. "I'm not losing my marbles, Doctor."

Andrews chuckled.

"Just part of the exam…uh, can you extend your arm?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Pulse and respiration. Having a little trouble finding…ah, there we are."

He held her wrist, checking her pulse. And put a hand on her…

"Uh…a little off target, Doctor..."

"Ah, sorry. Don't move, please."

The hand had already relocated, a bit lower and more central now. For the respiration thing.

After maybe a minute…

"Alright, everything looks fine." He announced. "Figuratively speaking, of course. And I'm sure you won't mind if we skip the pelvic exam…"

"I'm…not sure what that is but it doesn't sound like fun."

"I doubt you'd appreciate it."

"Then, yes, let's skip that."

Andrews grinned. "Good call. But let's run another urinalysis and blood chemistry…"

Hess huffed again.

"I'm going to run out of body fluids before tomorrow at this rate, you know."

The Doctor didn't say anything. He just fetched the cups from the tray over there and handed them over with a sympathetic smile.

Not quite at her. More over her shoulder somewhere since she was still a big fat blur, but whatever.

She took the cups with a sigh and made for the restroom.

* * *

><p>"That…" Hess said, "...was the stupidest movie…I have ever seen…in my entire life."<p>

Andrews laughed, where he sat in the exam chair beside her. Leaning back casually, watching the credits roll by on the screen over the bed. Chewing a probe cover with some very pearly white teeth.

"It wasn't so bad." He chuckled, gesturing at the screen with the probe cover now. "I liked the part at the end."

"You mean when they were running around lopping their heads off with meat cleavers? That part?"

He laughed. "How'd you guess?"

"Figures." She smirked.

Which, yeah, wasted smirk. But…

"No, wait. That _doesn't _figure. You're a doctor. I would have thought you'd be outraged at all the violence."

"Well, it's a movie." He pointed out, casually.

"Right, okay."

"And as a doctor…fewer patients for me to have to treat. So I approve."

"Because you're not going to be able to do much for the headless shape shifter guys."

"Naturally." He grinned. "Triage."

"Let's just never mind that they were eating people, right?"

"I took an oath, Commander." Andrews said, with mock sincerity. "I take that very seriously."

"Uh huh."

A moment of quiet, humorous introspection before the Doctor spoke again. Seriously, this time.

"I do wonder how decapitation matters if they were shape shifters, though. Did they even _have _heads?"

* * *

><p>"So…you've got an actual 240A chip implanted in your brain?" Hess marveled. "Right now?"<p>

"Standard price of admission." Andrews shrugged.

"And for that, they put you through medical school."

"That's how it works." He pointed out. "Sign up for the program, get chipped, free education. I picked medical school."

"Sure, why not? If they're paying for it and that chip let you blow right through the courses…that was the smart thing to do."

"It was only good for the first three years. After that it was at capacity and I had to learn everything else the hard way."

"So, wow. You actually _did _have to study." She smirked.

Andrews chuckled. "To put it mildly. But if there was ever a golden opportunity dropped in the lap of some random street rat from Old Detroit…that was it."

"That's still pretty impressive. What about the side effects?"

Andrews tilted his head a bit at that.

"Well…headaches now and then. Sometimes pretty bad. Sensitivity to bright lights, that sort of thing. Nothing I can't manage."

Hess frowned.

"I know a little bit about the 240A project, Doctor. And I know a lot of that wasn't exactly in the brochure."

Andrews grinned. "Commander, a dozen years ago I was sleeping in a cardboard box and prostituting myself for a meal. Today I'm a physician on a Starfleet vessel, light years away from Earth. Probably on my way to kick the Romulans in the teeth one good time before I go down for the count. I'm not one of those 240's agitating for reparations. I can handle a headache."

Hess pondered that.

"What about neural rejection syndrome?" She said, quietly. "The odds aren't exactly in your favor…"

"I've got a couple of decades before I have to worry about that." He said, simply. "I still consider it a good deal."

Hess nodded lightly.

So, okay.

"Okay." She said. "So…let's put the chip to work, Doctor. I think it's almost 2400 hours. Time for another round of 'poke the blur'."

Andrews squinted up at the ceiling for quick moment.

Checking some kind of internal chronometer, Hess suddenly realized.

"Yup, right on time, Commander. You sure you don't have a chip in there?"

"Pretty sure nothing more interesting that a bunch of Echo particles."

"Let's see how they're doing. Vitals first, so throw an arm out, if you would be so kind…"

* * *

><p>The cuff tightened on her arm enough to be uncomfortable. Almost painful…<p>

…then eased off a little. Then a little more…

…then completely in a short, final hiss.

Hess drew a breath. "Well?"

"I can confirm you're arm is still there, that your heart is still beating and that your blood pressure is impressively normal."

"How does that thing work, Doctor?" She asked peering at the odd contraption he was holding.

He considered it for a moment. "You're an engineer, so I can see how that might interest you. You pump up the cuff enough that it cuts off blood supply to the arm. Then, when you ease off on the pressure your heart eventually is able to overcome the constriction. This dial here indicates…"

"No, I mean how does it _work?"_

Andrews considered the device again.

"Oh. Just a pliable bulb that pumps air into the cuff. The stethoscope itself is just a cone with a stiff diaphragm cover that amplifies sound so you can hear the heart beat."

"I've never seen those before."

"Not even in an old movie? They were in common use up to hundred years or so ago. More recently than that, I think."

Hess just shrugged.

"Well, my professor gave me these." Andrews said, proudly. "There's a certain…sentimental value to them. I didn't think I'd ever actually _use _them, though."

She felt a little guilty all of a sudden.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Doctor. I hope it didn't…"

"No, no! It's alright." He laughed. "That's what they were meant to do. I'm actually _glad _I was able to use them. I guess I should thank you for getting…blurred…"

Having said that, Andrews frowned.

"We really ought to name this phenomenon." He said. "We did discover it, after all. What do you think?"

"The Hess-Andrews Echo effect." Hess said, immediately.

He considered that for a moment, before nodding decisively.

"It'd say that's perfect." Andrews proclaimed. "I'll note that in the medical log right away."

And he did so, right on his medical PADD.

"You think we'll be famous?" She asked, playfully.

"Only if you're contagious." He said, with mock serious.

Which was nicely funny…

At least she _hoped _he wasn't serious.

* * *

><p>"So a bear walks into a bar." Andrews said. "He asks the bartender, 'Can I get a gin….and tonic?' Bartenders asks, 'Why the long pause?' The bears looks down at his paws and say, 'I don't know, just runs in the family.'"<p>

Hess stared.

Then quirked a little frown.

Again, wasted considering she was a big blur here, but…

"Okay, that was pretty bad." She said. "But I've got you beat."

"Has to be a _bad _joke." Andrews pointed out, one finger raised to emphasize that point. "Has to be a _joke _but you can't make the other person _laugh_."

"I know, I got it." She assured. "So…two biscuits, sitting on a pan in an oven. One biscuit turns to the other one and says, 'Wow! It's really getting hot in here.' The other biscuit turns to him and screams hysterically, 'Ah! A talking biscuit!'"

Andrews squinted at that, thinking it over.

Until…

"Okay," He admitted. "That was worse than mine."

"I told you. I've played this game before."

"I almost laughed, though."

"Give it up, Doctor. You can't win this."

Doctor Andrews folded his arms thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair.

And Hess waited, giving him plenty of time. She was confident. There was no way he'd come up with a worse joke, that still _qualified _as a joke, than the biscuit thing.

Eventually he settled on whatever he settled on there. And he took a stab at it anyway.

"A man joins a monastery." He said. "And one of the rules of the order are that you have to take a vow of silence. You're only allowed to speak once a year and even then, only two words.

"After the first year the man is brought before the elders to share his wisdom. He says, 'Cold floors.' The elders consider that, reflecting deeply on the matter, then send him on his way.

"After the second year, they bring him before the elders to share his wisdom once more. He says, 'Terrible food.' The elders consider that and send him on his way again.

"After the third year, they bring him before the elders again. And the man says, 'I'm leaving'. To which the eldest of the elders replies, 'That's no surprise, you've done nothing but complain since you got here.'"

Hess…

…sputtered with laughter. Until she laughed out loud.

"Oh my God! You cheated!" She said, still laughing.

Andrews objected. "That's not cheating! I threw the contest!"

"I can't believe you _did _that!"

"You can't cheat to _lose!"_

"I was sitting here waiting for a bad joke!"

"It's not really that great a joke…"

"It's funny, though! It's not supposed to be funny!

Andrews smirked. "But I didn't _cheat_, though."

* * *

><p>"Alright, help me find your diaphragm this time." Andrews smirked. "That's getting a little unprofessional."<p>

Hess snickered.

"Here, hold out your hand, Doc." She said. "Okay, there you go…"

"And your wrist…got it. Alright, just relax…breath normally."

A minute or so…

"Okay, good. No change, vitals are strong."

Hess snorted, disbelieving.

"I can't believe this thing can blur you like this and not have any other effect at all."

"Nothing I've been able to detect, anyway." Andrews said. "I'd like to run a full battery once it finally…"

Hess waited for a moment.

Until she realized he wasn't going to finish.

"What?" She asked.

"Commander…you're back_."_

"My what?"

"No, you're back."

Hess just looked confused.

"You _are _back…just look down." Andrews said.

She looked down at herself.

And there she was.

She gasped in surprise. "Hey! I'm back! When did that happen?"

"Just now." Andrews said, clearly still a little startled himself. "You just…snapped into focus again."

"Wow." Hess said, appreciatively. "It's about time…oh, hey! What time is it?"

She might still have time…

"A little after 0200."

Oh.

She sighed. Of course.

"Damn." She whispered.

"What's wrong?" Andrews asked, naturally concerned.

"Nothing." Hess grumped.

So. Great. She was back and it _still _sucked.

Andrews was staring at her, though…

Wait, was there something _else _wrong?!

"What? What is it?" She asked, concerned.

He startled slightly. "Nothing!" He said. "I'd have to run a full battery, of course, in order…"

He paused again, considering something.

"What? What's wrong?"

He waved that away, absently.

"Nothing at all, it's just…don't take this the wrong way, Commander. I realize it will sound…"

He paused _again_.

And she wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or irritated now.

"_What_, Doctor?"

"Do you work out?" He asked, brow furrowed curiously. "Obviously you do, but…well, you're in incredible shape."

Hess blinked, drawing her head back a little at _that _one.

Andrews rushed to explain. "It's just that…your definition is remarkable. And you obviously do squats…"

"Uh…well…yeah." Hess said, hesitantly. "I…try to get to the gym when I can."

"I certainly hope that rubs off on the other engineers while you're here." Andrews frowned. "They all meet Starfleet standards of fitness, don't get me wrong, but I can barely get them to eat properly. How do you find the time? I barely manage a few hours a week."

"You work out, Doctor?"

"Wouldn't be much of physician if I didn't keep in shape myself." He smirked. "It'd be hard to argue with a certain Andorian around here about exoskeletal alignment if I didn't."

"Oh…well, I do my best thinking at the gym." Hess explained. "I figured out how to tweak brain wave signal deflection on the treadmill. For this telepresence unit we had to build, I mean. It was…"

Hess rethought that. Because…

"Well, that's actually a long story."

Andrews grinned. "You don't say."

Hess grinned back at that. Then realized…

"Oh…uh, can I?" She asked, gesturing vaguely.

Off somewhere in the general direction of not standing there in her underwear.

"Yes, of course. Top drawer." He said, pointing the way.

She found her jumpsuit, cleaned and pressed at some point apparently. And was half dressed again when she found herself suddenly quite bold.

"So you work out, huh?" She grinned, playfully. "Well, let's see what you've got there, Doctor."

Andrews looked surprised…then, interestingly enough, shy.

"Oh, I don't think that would…" He said, shyly.

"No, no." Hess said, zipping up her jumpsuit. "I showed you mine, you show me yours. That's only fair."

Andrews held his breath for a moment, trying to come up with an argument…then visibly caved and shrugged it off. Why not?

He reached and pulled his duty shirt up. Way, way up.

_Woof._

Whoa, momma.

"I always end up working my abs and upper body," He said, frowning down at the abs in question. "Never seem to work any lower before something comes up. But, I figure the ladies like that, so it's not all bad."

Hess stared.

Because the ladies like that.

"That's…uh, impressive. Good…defin-…good work Doctor."

"Really need to work on my glutes a little more, I believe." He frowned. "Hardly seem to get to, though."

Hess nodded, staring. Because, right. Glutes or something.

Wait, glutes?

Andrews shrugged and grinned shyly. Dropping the shirt in the process, unfortunately.

"I got in the habit at the Academy actually. Just sort of stuck with it."

Hess nodded, making eye contact again. Now that she could.

"That's a…good habit." She said, nodding. A little too much.

God, wasn't it cold in here a minute ago?

"You know, we should work out together some time." Andrews said, as the thought occurred to him. "Maybe we can get something started."

Get…what?

"Huh?"

"With the crew." He explained. "I bet if we can get a few people together…"

"Good idea." Hess said, catching up. "We should do that."

Andrews nodded, happy with that.

And Hess twitched her head a little. To get her brain properly realigned again.

"So…" She said. "We probably want to do those tests before I run out of here."

"Right." Andrews said, immediately. "Shouldn't take a minute, then I can release you."

Okay, good. Because…_woof_.

"Not that I have anywhere to be at 0200 hours." Hess smirked. "But a nap wouldn't be unwelcome."

"You and me both." Andrews grinned. "I'm dead on my feet here. First, let's make sure of everything we couldn't before."

He had his medical scanner proudly in hand again. And she assumed the position, practically standing at attention, as he went to work.

No more than a minute, clean bill of health. A quick notation on the PADD and she found herself released back to active duty.

At 0224 hours. So the duty in question was to go to her quarters and hit the rack.

"So I'm thinking if movie night is a weekly event," Andrews said, as she prepared to leave. "What about the night after that? Make a regular, weekly thing of it."

Hess was confused.

"Huh?"

"The gym." He reminded her.

"Oh! Right…"

Hess considered _that _for exactly .3 seconds.

"…that sounds great. Tomorrow night then?"

"_Tonight_, technically." Andrews chuckled.

"Tonight." Hess agreed, grinning. "1800 hours works for me."

"I'll see you there."

"Okay." She smiled brightly. "See you there."


	37. Chapter 37

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Captain's Ready Room, Deck A**

T'Pol considered the data file currently available for review on the floating holographic window display.

The data file was empty. It contained no data.

"I don't understand." She said. "You indicated that this file contained all the accumulated cache memory copies of all conversations actively and passively recorded by the Sisco units aboard this ship."

"That's right." Trip nodded, from where he sat at his desk.

T'Pol, standing on the other side of the desk, considered the file again.

It remained empty.

"Was the data lost?"

"No." Trip said. "I deleted it."

T'Pol's curious eyebrow rose to attention.

"Why?" She asked. "It was a potentially valuable source of intelligence."

"It was about a hundred terabytes of private conversations recorded without anyone's knowledge or consent. Just like the ones of yours we went over in here the other day."

"The Sisco system update at your last mandatory management meeting." She guessed. "That was the update?"

"That and some new security measures and privacy controls so that sort of thing couldn't happen again."

T'Pol considered the empty file again.

"Why did you wish to show me this, Captain?"

"I wanted you to know those recordings we went over before…those were the only private conversations of yours that I or anyone else is aware of." He said. "And that all the others are gone. None of them exist anymore. Not even in official records."

He tapped the console on this desk and the golden window containing the empty file disappeared. Illustrating the manner in which the data had disappeared, she presumed.

To Trip's surprise, T'Pol responded to that with a moment of quiet reflection…before turning to walk away. Wandering over near the display table to examine things there.

"That is discouraging." She said, quietly.

Which surprised Trip still further, of course.

"Discouraging? Why?" He asked.

T'Pol looked back at him evenly.

"It was my intention to regain your trust, Captain." She said. "But it seems you insist on showing yourself to be honorable and worthy of trust, so that I find that we are almost competing in this. And I perceive that I only fall farther behind as time progresses."

Trip actually laughed lightly at that. And so now it was T'Pol's turn to be surprised.

"Why do you laugh?" She asked.

Trip grinned. "Because I _do _trust you, T'Pol. And not blindly. I just know you're a good person. So that much I do trust."

"How can you know that, Captain?"

"I have evidence." He said, smiling warmly.

"Evidence based on what?" She responded immediately. "Faith or logic?"

Shadows of her little game in the cargo bay, Trip recognized. So he responded appropriately.

"Both." He said.

"Then your evidence is sound." She said, prompting him to grin all the more. "But I remain curious about this evidence you claim."

Trip nodded.

"We'll get to that in a minute."

And so T'Pol suppressed frustration.

Because…that was suddenly frustrating. To be _so close_…and yet…

"What shall we discuss prior to that then?" She asked, intently. "So that we may progress to it quickly and cover the topic to your satisfaction."

"Okay, don't get testy."

"I am Vulcan. I do not get 'testy'. I am merely curious why I am here."

"And you're not 'handy' either." He said. "So I'm gonna rely on that as evidence that you won't throttle me if I frustrate you a little more."

T'Pol was tempted to glare.

"I have a question for you." He said. "And it's kind of a weird question. But you're Vulcan, so I figure you'll take it literally and answer it honestly."

"What is your question?"

"The question you're gonna answer honestly?"

"Yes." T'Pol said, glaring. "That question."

"What are your intentions for me?"

T'Pol…oddly found herself stunned by that.

It was bold question, of course. But more than that…it was one she wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Never mind answering honestly.

"Take your time." Trip said, softly.

So…she did. Turning away to contemplate the matter with some small measure of privacy.

It was a difficult question.

Difficult to answer for herself. And all the more so to answer honestly to him once she had her own answer.

"What you are asking is very difficult." She said, eventually.

"I kinda figured it would be." He said.

T'Pol was quiet for a moment longer. Because she needed to internalize that statement. It suggested his concern and understanding, which she required faith in at the moment.

"Throughout your life, who was your most cherished friend?" T'Pol asked. Over her shoulder, not yet turning to face him again.

Trip thought about it. But he didn't have to think for very long. Just enough to be sure the answer was honest and accurate, as that was no less than what he asked of her.

"Jon." He said.

T'Pol turned to face him then. "Captain Archer?"

He nodded.

"And there has never been another friend closer to your _katra _than him?"

Trip squinted a bit. "Lovers, maybe…but I get the feeling you're excluding that."

"I am." T'Pol affirmed.

"And family members." Trip guessed.

"Also excluded, yes."

"Okay. Then, no."

T'Pol nodded.

"Have you ever kissed him?"

Trip took a deep breath, through his nose. Adjusting to _that _question.

"On the mouth? Because I'm starting to get the picture here…"

"Yes. On the mouth."

"No. Can't say I recall ever doing that."

"Then you have no reference to understand what it means to be _t'hy'la_."

Trip let that statement stand for a moment. Then acknowledged it.

"No, I guess I don't."

T'Pol nodded.

"That was my intention for you."

Trip let that filter through his mind. And it was a slippery concept. An _alien _concept, in fact. So he had a lot of trouble getting hold of it.

But she said…

"Was." He noted, curiously. "You said it _was _your intention."

"Perhaps."

"Was or is?"

"That is unknown."

He couldn't help but grin at that. Shadows of the cargo bay again.

So, okay. That was her intention. And she wasn't sure suddenly if it still was. But her intentions for him, past or present…he sorta understood them now. As much as he was able.

"You know I'm Human." He pointed out. "Am I even capable of that, do you think?"

"I am uncertain." She admitted. "It seems possible, though it is admittedly contrary to your nature. Nevertheless, I found it logical to explore the possibility."

"Why?" He asked, brow furrowed. "Why me? You've got Tulok and T'Lea. They're at least Vulcan."

"Such things are not chosen, they simply are."

So…okay. Yeah, he could sorta see that, too…

But she hadn't answered, had she?

"So, why me?" He asked again.

T'Pol stared at him.

And she was closed tighter than a drum, he saw. Not a thing peeking through her defenses at all.

So they were clearly pushing her limits here.

"Another very difficult question." She said, evenly.

"I'll try to make up for it."

T'Pol nodded slightly. So apparently that had been the assurance she was looking for.

"I cannot say why Archer did not recognize me." She said, seemingly out of the blue. "Neither as the security agent who aided the Syrannites in recovering the _Kir'shara _with him, nor as the advisor initially assigned by Vulcan Intelligence to the _Enterprise_. I cannot say for certain why. But I suspect."

"What do you suspect?" Trip asked.

"I suspect that he did not recognize me because I am Vulcan. And because my hair style was subtly different."

He almost didn't get it.

But then he did. And he snorted a little.

"Yeah, we have an old saying. 'They all look the same to me'. It means when you meet people you aren't familiar with…a different type of people, like a race or species…it takes a little adjusting before you get familiar with all the subtle little…"

"Yes, I am familiar with the concept." T'Pol said. "And Archer has yet to fully adjust to Vulcans in this manner. Where as many Humans have, such as yourself. My suspicion is that this is because he does not wish to adjust. He is comfortable viewing my people as a species rather than a collection of individuals."

Trip frowned at that.

"I don't think anyone can rightly call Jon a _bigot_, T'Pol…"

"That is not my suggestion." She said. "Rather that he is prejudicial in regards to my people. As evidence of this, I would cite his referencing me as 'Vulcan' on more than one occasion. And Commander Hess continues to do the same. Both are indicative of a culture of prejudice aboard the _Enterprise_. And this prejudice exists not only there but across Humanity as a whole. Just as it does among my people, toward Humans. And likely every sentient species in the galaxy toward every other. And so you see that I use Captain Archer merely as a ready example."

"So everybody tends to be prejudiced." Trip shrugged. "I don't get your point."

"You have never named me 'Vulcan'." She said. "You have consistently referred to me as 'T'Pol', 'Commander' or 'Commander T'Pol'. And that is not to suggest you are devoid of prejudice or even bigotry. I could cite examples of both. Just as I could in myself. Rather that you simply prefer to recognize, make an effort to recognize and are comfortable recognizing individuals."

"Okay," Trip said. "I think I get what you're saying but you're close to losing me on the big picture…"

"That characteristic makes it possible for me to trust you with my _katra_." She said. "Because it indicates you are likely to view and accept it as individual and unique."

Oh.

So…okay.

"Yeah, okay. I get that." He said. "And I can see how that would be important."

"Yes, it is critical. There are many other factors that make you agreeable or even desirable as _t'hy'la_. But that point is critical. I must trust you, as you must trust me. You have said that you trust me, but can you trust me with this?"

Trip drew a deep breath…

"Well, that's a very difficult question." He grinned. Because it seemed it was _his _turn for that now.

"I acknowledge that." T'Pol said. "But if you will allow me to, I will verbalize why it is that you are tempted to trust me. It is because I am not in my time of mating and will not be for some years. And so you know that I will not attempt to seduce you if we are intimate."

Trip…blinked in surprise.

Because, _what _now?

"You think I'm afraid of _that?" _He asked.

"Perhaps not afraid. But it is a significant concern for you." She said. "I am aware enough of the particulars of your religious tenets to know that you are not allowed to engage in sexual intimacies…at least as Humans define them…beyond the confines of marriage. This is the reason you withdraw from Commander Hess, despite the obvious attraction you have for her. You are concerned she will seduce you, whereas you know that I will not."

Trip just stared.

"Wow." He said, eventually. "I don't even know where to start with that one."

"I suggest honest introspection, so that you can recognize this to be true. Then display trust in your _t'hy'la _by acknowledging it. You may take your time, of course…"

"Okay, first off…you're close." Trip said, seriously. "Yeah, I think that would be wrong and if it happened I'd feel real bad about it in the morning. But on the other hand, I'm a Human male. So if I thought that it was possible for _me _to seduce _you_…that's probably what we'd be doing on the couch right now. And I'd just have to feel bad about it in the morning."

T'Pol spared the couch an almost startled glance.

"T'Pol, I don't trust you because I'm not worried about you seducing me…heck, I wish you would…but like I said, I know you're a good person. _That's _why I trust you."

T'Pol didn't bother suppressing her frustration. At least no more than strictly necessary. As they were actively assessing the possibility of becoming _t'hy'la _it was appropriate to push certain envelopes in regards to personal behavior.

So she huffed slightly. And frowned a little.

"If that is the case, then you have yet to illustrate your evidence for the trust you claim to have in me."

"I know, T'Pol. I was just…"

"Perhaps it would beneficial for you to do so now," She continued, sharply. "So that I can understand that I have your trust."

"I'll…"

"Assuming that I even do." She added, glaring.

Trip waited, giving it a beat, so T'Pol could…calm down, for crying out loud.

"Okay." He said, softly.

Her eyes flickered a little dangerously. But she didn't huff again or snap at him, so…okay then.

"Alice, online."

T'Pol visibly twitched. And her jaw tensed.

Which he figured was understandable. That had heralded some rather uncomfortable moments for her recently.

"_Hello, Trip. I am currently enjoying a wide variety of benefits from my current access to the ship's computer core. While primary systems were offline engaged with root language reformatting, I was still able to successfully route a video stream of 'Scanatics' to the console in sickbay for Commander Hess and Doctor Andrews with no difficulty. This represents a notable breakthrough in processing capability. Did you enjoy the movie yourself?"_

"I did, Alice. Thanks. And I'm glad to hear your processing problems have been cut in half like that. You and Song are doing a great job."

"_Thank you, Trip. How can I help you?"_

"Access that report you issued back at Celestial Station for me. The security advisory."

"_I have it, Trip."_

T'Pol…tensed.

And her eyes widened nearly a tenth of a centimeter.

"Text review, please, Alice."

A golden window appeared in front of him, where he sat at the desk. He touched and dragged the window slightly to one side.

So T'Pol could still see him. And he could still see her.

He touched the text on the screen and flicked it up, sending the text scrolling wildly until he tapped it again. Then dragged it back down just a page or two.

Quickly finding the phrase he clearly knew was there and highlighting it.

"Translate that for me again, Alice."

"_S'ti th'laktra. I grieve with thee. A proper, formalized acknowledgement appropriate to bereaved family members."_

"Access the associated video file you attached to the security advisory, Alice. Bring it up on the window."

T'Pol could see the video display from where she was, when it appeared in the lower right corner of the window.

It showed her. Standing in the holochamber.

Watching Captain Tucker and the Xyrillian, Lynn, interact.

Trip reached to the video display…and T'Pol experienced a slight moment of panic that he might intend to _play _the video…

But he did not. He dragged the small bar at the bottom far to the right. Until he found the point where T'Pol stood grieving her invasion of his privacy. And he left it there.

"Alice, what would have been the most appropriate phrase in that situation?"

"_Either 'Tushah nash-veh k'dular' or 'Tushah nash-veh k'odu'. Depending on whether Commander T'Pol intended to acknowledged either superior or inferior rank, status or measure of honor."_

"Why would _S'ti th'laktra _not be appropriate?"

"_You are not related to Commander T'Pol."_

"Thank you, Alice. Offline."

He tapped the golden window…and it disappeared. And he sat back in his chair again, looking at her.

"So." He said. "First off…that's it. That's the last of your secrets that I know about. That one I figure isn't my fault, at least."

T'Pol was still for a while. And Trip didn't push things. He just waited patiently for…whatever was going to happen here.

"The others…" T'Pol said. "You are arguably not at fault for those either."

Trip noticed the not so subtle reservation there, but he was more than glad to take it.

"Thank you, T'Pol. Means a lot to hear you say that. I hated doing it and never want to do it again."

T'Pol just nodded slightly. Looking down at the desk, not at him.

"That's why I trust you, T'Pol. That's how I know you're a good person. At least, you _try _to be a good person. That's the best any of us can do."

"I don't understand…why this would cause you to trust me." T'Pol said, uncertainly.

"You did something wrong. And even though it wasn't a big deal…you had no idea what you'd stumbled across there…you were ashamed as if you _had _known. And you honored me in a way I didn't deserve trying to make up for it. Just like you're trying to make up for a few other things recently. That's more than enough for me."

T'Pol…was suddenly tired.

She was exceedingly fatigued. No doubt due to the emotional toll the last few days, and no least the last few moments, had taken on her.

Trip saw that and he came to stand with her.

"Take my hand." He said, offering it to her.

And she took it. So he led her to the couch, holding her hand until she was seated there. Then he sat down with her, with just enough distance as not to make her uncomfortable.

And they rested for a while, in silence.

Until it was time.

"Now I guess it's my turn to make up for it." He said.

And that surprised her a little, in as much as she was able to be surprised just then.

He began talking to her.

He talked of the shame he experienced and worked so diligently to hide. Shame that he'd been impregnated, despite believing still that he was largely blameless. Shame at the public spectacle it had made of him and…to her great surprise…shame at the sore temptation he'd suffered when offered the chance to be rid of Lynn. Even though that would have cost her life.

He talked of his distrust of Archer and how Hess perhaps had cast some doubt on that now. How he regretted much of what had come of that and how he desired now nothing more than to make peace with the man who'd at the least _tried _to be his friend.

He talked of James Keller, the physician who'd traveled many miles out of his way and devoted months of his life to treating him. To ensuring both he and Lynn survived the ordeal. And how that man had come to lead him to the spiritual reawakening he'd experience, fully embracing a religious upbringing that even his own family had never entirely embraced.

How that man had used Lynn herself to illustrate proof of God and insights into His character. And how that had not only been the impetus of claiming his Christian faith but also planting the seed of awareness that all sentient species were equally 'people'. A concept he would not fully grasp until long after, when he found himself involved with an evil that had suddenly become palpable in its madness and hatred.

His shame at how his courage had failed him and how he would not have had the strength to take a stand against that evil, having not only come face to face with it…but having become a part of it. Were it not for his religious faith coming into bloom in that environment…as well as the seed of awareness Doctor Keller had planted before…he would not have.

And he talked further, long into Gamma shift. Speaking now of his sister and her death in the attack on Earth…with he mere miles away himself. Able to see the blast strike the planet as it happened and knowing even then that his sister had been lost.

Oddly enough, giving thanks to the God he held himself beholden to for the wisdom that had strengthened him then. Falling not into the hatred that had nearly consumed him previously but understanding instead that the Xindi were merely people. That peace was possible, even if not through diplomacy and only at the cost of war.

He had not hated them even then, with his sister taken from him. Not as a people, as a whole. And he even thought it strange that no one else on the planet seemed able to truly understand what had occurred. To them all Xindi were evil, not only those few that actually may be.

He grieved his sister even still, though. And his daughter, who he freely called his daughter, not less than she.

And it was there that he wept at last, in saying the thing most difficult for him to say. That despite all of that, Ah'len was the only one yet he struggled to forgive. Even Archer he could not truly hold any bitterness toward. Distrust certainly, but even Archer he understood.

Ah'len he could not understand, nor could he forgive. And in that needing only the one thing he grieved he would never have of her. The mere recognition that she'd wronged him, however slightly, in that it came to impact his life so dramatically as it had.

That and his daughter, who lived still just beyond his reach. These two, of all the things that could have rent his heart even today…these were the things that caused him to weep.

Weep in the intimate presence of a Vulcan who was certain she was not at all equipped to respond appropriately.

And somehow did.

Reaching and taking his hand. Holding it gently, allowing the pain to ebb through her just as her peace descended on him. Until he'd wept enough and the pain was put away again. And he was able at last to rest from it for a time.

She sat with him, holding his hand. And she waited.

Waited until his humor returned and his eyes were clear. Until he looked at her and smiled…

…with just enough of a smirk attached to that, over the fact that she held his hand, that she knew he'd fully recovered.

Then she moved and sat in his lap.

Sat directly. Knees to either side, her posterior supported directly on his thighs. Looking slightly down at him from there.

Until he was forced to acknowledge that.

"T'Pol…you're sitting in my lap." He said. Clearly uncertain that she was aware of that fact.

"Yes, I am." She said.

And moved to undo the zipper of his duty shirt. Grasping the shirt and pulling slightly, until she communicated her intent to remove it. And he was forced somewhat to comply.

"T'Pol, you're taking my clothes off." He said, his voice somewhat muffled by the fact.

"Only the shirt." She corrected, once she'd completed that task.

"Is…that appropriate?"

"Yes."

She reached to carefully prod the still slightly bruised area of his chest, in order to test it.

He winced slightly.

"It is still tender." She noted.

"Uh…yeah, just a little. Why are you…?"

"I will help." She said.

She found the neural nodes easily enough. And she applied pressure precisely, tending to that with one hand.

It required only one.

With the other she reached to touch his hair, sparing her attention from that only long enough to look him softly in the eye. So that he would know he was in her care.

Running her fingers through his hair slowly, allowing herself to enjoy the intimacy of the act, even as she sped healing to the last few splotches of bruise on his chest with the other.

"T'Pol," Trip said, clearly very amused. "What are you doing?"

She looked him in the eye again. And she smiled, if only with her own eyes.

"I am being handy, _t'hy'la_."


	38. Chapter 38

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Engineering (upper), Deck C**

Shran and T'Lea stood together, leaning over the railing overlooking Engineering's lower deck. The tall, athletic Andorian with striking blue skin, choppy white hair and antennae curved slightly toward the Vulcan. Curved toward her because she was very interesting. The petite and studious Vulcan herself leaned comfortably on the rail as well, contemplating the matters currently under discussion.

"Consider how variables in initial conditions render long-term predictions impossible in dynamical systems," T'Lea said. "Despite such systems being otherwise deterministic. Consider also the example of quantum uncertainty. One cannot simultaneously measure the speed and position of quantum particles. Recognize the relation between these and other such truths and follow what this suggests to its logical conclusion."

Shran waved a hand lazily over the rail.

"Chaos." She said. "The universe is built on chaos."

"Indeed." T'Lea acknowledged. "And yet we perceive it as orderly and the vast majority of our interactions with it are based on that assumption. An assumption which is justified almost consistently."

"There are rules." Shran nodded. "On top of the chaos. Everyone knows that."

"Many Vulcans refuse to recognize it." T'Lea said. "But those like myself who do…we recognize that while the strictly ordered and regimented disciples we practice may be sufficient in most cases, chaos will inevitably arise and events will occur which those disciplines cannot adequately address."

"So what?"

"One must be both able and willing to respond beyond the boundaries of discipline at such times. Even responding chaotically oneself if necessary, availing oneself of unknown variables of chance. Perhaps even, on occasion…preemptively."

Shran frowned, considering that.

"Be flexible." She decided.

"Essentially." T'Lea nodded. "Also, intuitively spontaneous."

Shran huffed. "Everyone does that."

"Vulcans typically do not." T'Lea said. "Our disciplines do not allow for it."

"So what?" Shran grumped. "What's any of that got to do with what we were talking about?"

"Consider the relationship that you and I share." T'Lea said. "Had I followed the disciplines of my people as most do, we would not be having this conversation. We would have no relationship at all beyond what was strictly required in order to work together. And I would not now have the opportunity to bring order from chaos."

"How are you doing that?"

"By helping you address personal issues effecting your relationship with the crew. In doing that I help establish order again where chaos has intruded. And so you see that chaos can be beneficial in combating chaos. Which is, ironically enough, quite logical."

Shran snorted with humor at that, turning to gaze out over Engineering again.

And they watched the empty room below for a time, allowing the hum of the engines to wash over them.

"My quad." Shran said, eventually.

"Indeed." T'Lea said. "They were taken from you by a random act of chaos. By acknowledging chaos and allowing for it, accepting the affinity that we share, I am now able to aid you in imposing order again."

"Tell me about that thing again. What do you call it?"

"_Mesyut-yorai-ka-wak. _The simple exercise of holding contradictory propositions as true in order to benefit from both. For example, I may sincerely and honestly state that I do not suffer from fear, even as I require dedicated adherence to Vulcan disciplines in order to suppress fear. Making that assertion is itself crucial to the practice of Vulcan discipline. In doing so, I make use of the defense mechanism of denial in order to empower my suppression of fear. But in doing this I must simultaneously hold as true both that I do not suffer from fear and that I must suppress it."

Shran frowned. "Sounds like craziness."

"You do this yourself already."

"I do?" Shran asked, surprised.

"You do." T'Lea nodded. "As an example, you recently chastised Lieutenant Crowley, citing an overall unsatisfactory work performance and threatening punitive measures if that performance did not improve significantly."

"Because his performance is crap." Shran insisted.

"Is that strictly true?"

"…no." Shran admitted. "He's a good engineer."

"And so you held both propositions as true simultaneously." T'Lea noted. "Both that his performance overall was unsatisfactory and that he is a good engineer…"

"I lied." Shran frowned. "So I wouldn't have to be nice and risk getting too close to him. And to motivate him to stop screwing up the intake manifold diagnostics report. So Vulcans lie? I knew that already."

"To call it lying would not be precise, but you approach wisdom in doing so. In holding two contradictory propositions as correct, one or both will typically be false."

Shran considered that. Even if it made her antenna twitch a bit.

"So how do I use this…Vulcan lying technique?"

"When you interact with the crew, remain acutely aware both of the needs of your quad that you are tempted to seek from them and the more appropriate interactions that are required of you as Chief Engineer of this vessel. Hold both sets of interactions to be appropriate simultaneously and substitute them. As an example, when you interact with Ensign James hold as appropriate both the seeking of intimate acceptance from him and the acknowledgement of your superior rank. Once you have practiced this method enough, his recognition of your superior rank will begin to fulfill your need for intimate acceptance. Utilizing similar methods in all areas of interaction with the crew you will eventually find all the needs of your quad fulfilled. And this will be accomplished by your appropriate and efficient interaction with them as Chief Engineer of the vessel."

Shran lashed her antennae over that for a while.

"Sounds like a lot of work." She sighed.

"It is. But if a thing is necessary, the amount of work to accomplish it becomes an irrelevant consideration."

Shran smirked at that. "If you have to do it, then do it."

"Yes, precisely." T'Lea nodded.

"Hm." Shran said, thinking it over.

"Ensign James approaches with a PADD." T'Lea noticed. "He intends to report something to you. Utilize this technique when he does."

"What, _now?" _

"Yes, now."

The Ensign approached.

"Lieutenant," James reported. "I finished routine maintenance on the…"

But Lieutenant Shran was growling.

So Ensign James responded appropriately.

"Uh…I'll go run the diagnostics…"

"No." Shran said, tightly.

And she…just stood there for a moment. Stood rigidly. Staring at the PADD he was holding.

Until James began to experience significant anxiety.

Shran held out her hand for the PADD then. And he nearly fumbled it handing it over.

She examined it, her face tight and blank.

Then nodded.

"Good work, Ensign." She said, turning her attention to him. "You've been at it for almost twelve hours now, is that right?"

"Uh…yes, ma'am…"

Shran just looked at him. No expression on her face at all.

"You're probably tired." She said, evenly. "Your work will suffer if you don't get some rest. Go hit your rack, take a nap and be back here in three hours. Then we'll get started on Deck A rear."

"Yes, ma'am." James said, quickly.

And then, after a short awkward moment, left quickly to go do that.

Shran turned back to the rail, to lean on it.

And let out the breath she'd been holding. She practically slumped.

"What did you experience?" T'Lea asked.

"Frustration." Shran scowled. "I wanted to hurt him so he'd go away and hold him close because he's tired and overworked. Both at once."

T'Lea pondered that.

"That is good." T'Lea decided. "Allow this to motivate you to master this method. Once you have mastered it, you will not experience frustration."

Shran was silent for a while, leaning on the rail. Frowning out over Engineering.

Then she sighed. And turned to the Vulcan.

"Thank you, T'Lea." She said, softly.

Meeting her eyes tenderly, almost furtively. With a notable measure of affection.

So T'lea addressed that.

"We will discuss your attraction to me once we have practiced this method sufficiently enough that you are able to utilize it on your own."

Shran scowled.

"Who said I'm attracted to you?" She growled.

"It is quite obvious."

Shran scowled more. And turned back to the rail, to scowl at Engineering for a bit.

Until…

"You have a Vulcan lying technique for that?"

"_Krup-yerak. _The establishment and maintenance of strict boundaries between productive and unproductive personal interactions in specific relationships."

Shran considered that.

"Sounds awful."

"It can be. But again, necessity renders that irrelevant."

Silent introspection again, for a time.

"Lieutenant Shran," T'Lea said at last. "You realize of course that if we survive this mission then the logical resolution to your difficulties would be simply to seek and find another quad."

"No." Shran said, firmly. "I just need to adjust to being alone again. It'll just take some time and then I'll be fine."

"Another quad is clearly the most logical…"

"No."

So T'Lea addressed that as well.

"We will discuss that at a later time then." She said. "When you are more able to acknowledge logic."

* * *

><p>Song strummed her fingers on the table as she peered at Tulok. Leaning back in her chair stiffly as she did so, staring intently at him across the table. Across the drinks they shared in the empty Mess Hall.<p>

And across the question he'd just asked her.

She'd already delayed long enough to have missed the opportunity to deflect or even to punish him for asking…so there really wasn't much else to do but answer.

She nodded.

"Yes."

Tulok accepted that comfortably.

"Do you believe this is why you have difficulty with long-term intimate relationships?"

Song took a slow, deep breath before answering yet again.

"Probably." She admitted. "That's definitely part of it. Maybe even why I'm a little cold and detached from some things. From some _people_. And why I'm comfortable with some things that other people aren't."

Tulok nodded agreeably.

"A relative?" He asked, curiously.

Song merely inclined her head slightly, since she'd expected that to be the next question.

"Uncle." She said, evenly. "Four years. From age twelve to fifteen."

Tulok nodded again.

"That is often the case." He considered. "Unfortunate, considering how difficult it makes recognizing all the indications that it is occurring, being within the realm of one's own family as it were. That is typically the only chance of resolving the issue in the most therapeutic manner."

Song smiled tightly.

"Vulcans have their own version of that, I suppose?"

"Indeed. Unfortunately we do." He acknowledged. "And how was this issue resolved for you?"

Song tilted her head a little, uncertain she understood.

"What do you mean?"

"Your uncle. What became of him?"

Song smiled coldly.

"I'd rather not say, Major."

Tulok nodded again, accepting that gracefully.

"And you?" She asked, flicking a finger in his direction. "Are _you _familiar with that?"

"No, I have never suffered that specifically." He said. "Rather my condition…or my ability, as you prefer…typically proves traumatic to use."

"Yeah, I suppose it would." She said. "Not something a Vulcan is normally comfortable with."

"No, I am quite comfortable with it." He corrected. "Rather, others are not. Specifically whomever I might use that ability on. If not immediately, then eventually. There must come a point when they confront their behavior and that is almost universally traumatic. Hence I never use it, except only in the line of duty. Even in that case it proves no less traumatic and painful."

Song squinted at that.

"I don't understand. Why would it bother _you? _You said you were comfortable with it."

"Empathy." He explained. "That is usually a byproduct of intimacy. And so I empathize with the other person who I have essentially violated and manipulated. That is extremely disturbing."

Song considered that and she understood it.

And she shrugged.

"Not so much a problem for me." She said. "I perceive other people's pain or discomfort. And I suppose I might care, if they're important to me in some way. Can't really say I empathize most of the time."

"Your predilection for detachment."

"More a tendency than a preference, not that I generally mind it. And, yeah. Pretty much."

Song smiled then, as it occurred to her.

"Which is why you're sitting here with me." She said. "Must be hard to find a Vulcan girlfriend who'll let you hold her hand on the first date. Or _any _date."

"Vulcan 'dating' is somewhat different than what you are used to, Commander. But that is essentially correct. Although, I hope you realize that is only a small part of your appeal to me."

"I'll go ahead and take that for granted, of course." Song smirked. "For now, anyway."

She leaned forward then, elbows on the table. Because she'd had her fill of comfortable detachment for the moment.

"So." She said. "We seem like the perfect little couple, don't we?"

"A mutually beneficial relationship, potentially." Tulok said. "I agree, Commander."

"So finish your drink, Major." She said, huskily. "It's getting late."

* * *

><p>The drink had given her a nice buzz. Hadn't done a thing for Tulok though, she knew.<p>

So she broke out the fudge. The extremely chocolaty fudge.

Because she'd done her homework, too.

He stood, hands comfortably folded at his back, in the center of the room. And he accepted one of the little brown flats of paper with the chocolate fudge on it when she offered it.

He examined it curiously.

Song smirked. "Smell it."

He did…and his eyebrow twitched very cutely.

"This is chocolate." He said.

"Mm hm." Song replied, around the bite she was already taking of her own.

She strolled over, sucking the fudge-smudge from her fingers, to lean back against the doorframe to watch him. The doorframe separating this room from the bedroom.

And she watched, smiling. Savoring the fudge.

Tulok indicated the chocolate with a slight elevation of it. "This will have an intoxicating effect."

"Mm hm." Song said, grinning around yet another bite.

Tulok caught up quickly. His eyes flickered just to the side of her. Where the bed was in there.

He hesitated a moment…but took a bite.

His eyes almost fluttered. And he consumed the whole thing a little too quickly to be considered appropriate in Vulcan circles.

Song found it very appropriate, of course.

And it was cute how he paused, when he realized there was fudge-smudge on his fingers. And that there didn't seem to be anything handy with which to deal with that.

She caught his eye…and made a point of sucking a bit off her own thumb while she _had _his eye. Very slowly and carefully.

He almost chickened out. But he accepted the challenge after a moment, sucking the chocolate from his fingers. And if he didn't display any particular skill or familiarity with the simple procedure…the absolute, utterly priceless once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have witnessed a Vulcan _do _that…it more than made up for any awkwardness he displayed.

Song grinned. And settled in a bit more comfortably against the doorframe.

Tulok glanced curiously around the room, his eyes already slightly glazed from the raging buzz he had going on over there. He even licked his lips once, absently.

Again, totally priceless.

"I am…somewhat unprepared…" He began.

"I know this." Song noted, smiling.

He paused, contemplating the situation.

She waited.

"Your intention is to lower my inhibitions with chocolate." He decided. "Then seduce me and have sexual relations there."

He offered a graceful…as much as the chocolate in his system would allow, anyway…gesture toward the bedroom.

"Pretty much." Song nodded, smiling.

Tulok considered things again.

"And if I use my ability again?" He asked.

Song smirked.

And tucked the last bit of fudge into her mouth.

"You won't." She said, giving that finger a quick suck. "Until I tell you to."

She left the doorframe, letting the little brown paper waft to the floor in her wake. Circling gracefully around behind him, examining him as she did.

"How do you expect to accomplish your intentions?" Tulok asked. "What methods do you use with other men?"

"I could tell you…" She said, coming around on the other side now. "…or you could experience that yourself."

Tulok was surprised to find…

She'd unzipped and removed her shirt at some point. When she moved behind him in such a predatory fashion.

And…those were not Starfleet issued undergarments. They were decidedly more…provocative.

"You were prepared." He said, slurring just a little. Not quite pulling off the accusatory tone he intended.

Song smirked again. And she'd advanced on him, just close enough to touch chest to chest. Her hands already claiming his arms.

"I never said I wasn't, Major. That would be you."

She was unzipping _his _uniform, he noticed. A moment of two after she'd begun to do so.

It was difficult to focus, of course. Nearly as difficult as tearing his eyes away from what brushed so softly against his bare chest now.

"The chocolate…" Tulok objected, with the barest whisper. His focus already lost between her eyes and her mouth.

"I _love_ chocolate." Song breathed. Breathed against his mouth, as she claimed it.

Her body was very cool. And the chocolate had grown very warm in his system. Enough that he _required _her to quench it.

And she did. Several times.


	39. Chapter 39

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Captain's Ready Room, Deck A**

Once T'Pol was satisfied with treating his bruise, she was able to free that hand to join the other.

It then became logical to graduate from stroking his hair to actually exploring the nodes of his neck, shoulders and upper chest directly. She was not quite bold enough yet to access his face. While the thought was very appealing, that would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

Of great relevance, if not outright relief, was the validity of his prior claim. Mere touch was not necessarily perceived as a sexual act. There was obvious, discernible arousal when she sat directly in his lap…but even that he easily suppressed when it was clear sexual behavior was not the intent.

So that modicum of control was confirmed. And that had been a critical point. Absent that, to be _t'hy'la _would have been impossible. There would be no true intimacy that did not provoke him to sexual desire. Even granted the ability to suppress that, no Human would be able to tolerate repeatedly being required to do so. The relationship would be doomed from inception.

She was eventually forced out of his lap though, despite the greater comfort it provided her. Sitting there too long had caused his legs to grow numb. So they both sat together then, facing one another on the floor.

Finding the various neural nodes on his body when she sought them was very easy, being largely where they would be found on a Vulcan. The neural pathways themselves…

She found that thoroughly captivating. Exploring them, mapping them, determining their nature…it was very rewarding. She could have continued with that process for hours. As it were, however, it was approaching only one hour and her fingers already threatened to become over-stimulated from touching, exploring and caressing.

With another Vulcan only direct pressure and access would have been required. With Trip…in order to receive the most stable contact, pressure was not sufficient. Alternating pressure and caress was required. Pressure for contact, caress to stimulate his nervous system. But, interestingly, once provoked in that manner he responded admirably. The mutual flow was clear and immediate. Being Human, he had no innate defenses or resistance. There was nothing in the way.

She decided…perhaps half an hour more. Then that would be enough for now.

But always, though…behind and beneath it all…his _katra_. Just beyond her reach, only just discernible. And not warm and green, as she was familiar with. Cool, dark and red.

More than that besides…it was alien. It was not vicious, savage and violent. Not barely restrained by all the weight of modern Vulcan discipline. It had none of the extremes of any _katra _she had perceived before.

Rather…it was almost playful. Enjoyable. Exciting in a starkly joyful sense. A little wicked in places. A little sad in others. Curious, confident, determined…but nothing approaching the bridled passion of the Vulcan _katra_.

But still…utterly compelling. She had not expected that from a Human. She'd found perhaps three Vulcans whose _katra _had tempted her own, including her betrothed…but that a Human would at all, that was entirely unexpected.

So they continued, until her fingers had indeed become over stimulated. Then they switched. He taking his turn doing the work.

There was problem almost immediately. When she began to remove her own shirt.

"Uh…T'Pol?" He said, warning.

"Yes?"

"That sexual arousal thing you were worried about? That'd kinda be pushing it."

T'Pol considered that, her arms crossed before here, paused in the process of removing her duty shirt.

"You would find that arousing." She said. To clarify.

"Kinda already am finding it. And you haven't even got your shirt off yet."

"I see." She said, tugging her shirt decidedly back down. "Would you be comfortable sitting behind me…?"

"That'd be fine."

"…with my shirt off?"

Trip stared. And he clearly suppressed his emotions, which was fascinating to witness.

"T'Pol…God love yah, darlin'…you have no idea how you're testing my honor right now…"

"If maintaining the undergarment would be sufficient…"

"I can work with that."

"Very well."

That had proven discouraging, of course. But at least established again that the problem was manageable.

His attempt to access neural nodes at her back and neck…or rather his obvious ignorance that this was what he was expected to do or even how…that proved discouraging at first as well. Until she managed to relax and open the pathways to him. Then the kneading and caressing he applied to her neck and shoulders suddenly proved sufficient.

The flow was there again, almost immediately. And again established that the connection with his Human system was clear and open enough that little more than casual contact was required.

Additionally the kneading and caressing brought with them the further benefit of yet another layer of pleasure. Physical stimulation in addition to psychic stimulation.

Overall…this was very sufficient.

"So what do you get out of this exactly?" He asked, eventually.

"It is pleasurable."

"That's it?" He asked, surprised. "Not the answer I expected from a Vulcan."

"There is also a requirement involved." She explained, as he caressed her neck. "It is a need that rewards with pleasure when it is met."

"Well, that sounds more Vulcan." He grinned. "I couldn't imagine you'd do anything just because it felt good. So I guess I'm asking what is it that you _need _from this?"

As she began to explain, he almost surprised her by taking and raising her arms over her head. Folding them over there, exposing the sensitive inner arms. And he began slowly caressing them, up and down the length of her arms while she answered.

That was extremely sufficient.

"Intimate psychic contact." She said, sedately. "Deprived of that for extended periods, two or three decades for example, a Vulcan could easily succumb to madness. This is well documented. Such contact is required for continued mental health. I understand it is the same for Humans, though your need is more empathetic than psychic."

"Okay, I can see that. If you locked me up somewhere and I didn't have any kind of contact with another person for a couple of decades…yeah, I'd probably go crazy. But if we're talking about psychic contact…you're not reading my mind right now, are you?"

"No," She assured him, even as she allowed herself to grow languid under his ministrations. "That is only with those to whom we are bound."

"Bound?"

"_Katra _bound together." T'Pol explained. "Bondmates or family. It is a permanent connection at that level."

"_T'hy'la _don't get that?"

"_T'hy'la _may bond, of course, but it does not necessarily follow. And to answer your question, I can sense your emotions through touch but I cannot detect your thoughts or any secret information, if that is a concern. Not without access to your _katra _itself. I am certain you have classified Starfleet material on Vulcan physiology and psychology that will confirm all of this, including the particulars about this relationship."

"Oh, okay." He said. "I guess I've got some homework to do."

"Are you able to sense me, _t'hy'la_?" She asked.

"What, psychically? No, I don't think so."

"I had not expected you would. But I was curious."

"Kinda feel like I'm really missing out on something, though." He said, chuckling. "So how often do you need this?"

"As often as you are able."

"I'm a pretty able guy."

"Would a weekly session be agreeable?"

"Every day, for all I care. I'm lovin' this."

"I doubt we will have that much free time."

"Well, whenever you like, whenever you want. Consider me available."

"Very well."

He carefully lowered her arms from atop her head then. And that was acceptable, as the pathways there were fully stimulated. Any further attention would likely become uncomfortable.

He returned then to caressing her neck and shoulders. As before, not attempting pressure and direct neural access as a Vulcan would, but utilizing massage and caress. Again, an odd sensation once she opened the pathways for him, but extremely relaxing…

Which was why it took her a moment to startle and realize…when he brushed lightly at her cheeks in passing.

She gasped slightly, despite herself.

"What?" He asked, immediately. "Did I do something wrong?"

"That is…a very intimate place."

"What? Where?"

"My face." She said. "It is…my identity. The more direct pathways to the _katra _are there."

"Oh, I…didn't know…not that I have any idea what that means. You want me to stay away from there?"

"…no."

"You sure?" He asked, uncertainly.

"Yes, I am sure." She said, more confidently. "I was…unprepared."

He snorted lightly then.

"I'd say. You actually jumped a little. Never seen a Vulcan do that before. Are you sure it's okay?"

"It is. Proceed."

He continued. And his methods suddenly changed.

He began to stroke each side of her jaw line, up to her forehead. Over and over, gently.

Then switched to her forehead itself, with the back of his hand. Rhythmically caressing, from the browline to hairline. Then with his thumbs, outward gently to the sides, repeatedly. Then the heels of his hand.

Then with his thumbs again, along her eyebrows. Then pulling gently with thumb and forefinger along each brow.

Her eyelids, gently, with one finger each. Down her nose with his thumbs, caressing the tip and nostrils. Her cheeks and down to her chin.

Lightly pinching along the jaw, up to the ears.

Finally, lightly caressing the length of her ears. Even gently pinching and tugging the lobes themselves.

It was…glorious.

"So is this all there is to being _t'hy'la_? Not that it isn't great, but I got the impression there was more to it."

…

"T'Pol?"

…

"Hey, you okay?"

He stopped touching her ears.

"Yes, _t'hy'la_. I am…okay."

"Did you hear me?"

"…you asked if there was more to being…"

"Why didn't you say something? You kinda scared me there for a second."

"I was distracted."

"Oh, I'm definitely doing the face thing more. I've got your number now."

"If you wish." She said. "Proceed."

Unfortunately he rested his hands on her shoulders instead. Apparently demanding she answer before submitting to her requirement and caressing her face again.

"But to answer your question." She said, reluctantly. "Yes, of course. There is more. Consider your relationship with Captain Archer and with lovers you have had in the past. I assume to be _t'hy'la _is like that, simply more intimate."

"_More _intimate?"

"Yes. Because I will share things with you that I will not share with others. Emotions, for example, and emotional expression. Still limited and controlled, of course. Personal information, support, commitment and trust. Affection and psychic contact. A sense of mutuality."

"Mutuality?"

"Yes. Us, we, our. Perceiving ourselves as a singular entity of two parts."

"T'Pol…you're talking about a real relationship. A _serious _relationship."

"It is serious, yes. But very rewarding and beneficial."

Through his hands, on her shoulders, she immediately sensed…panic.

So she clarified quickly. "These things will come in time. They should not be forced but allowed to develop naturally. I speak of this type of relationship in general, not necessarily as ours is expected to be now."

That calmed him, apparently.

"Oh, okay. Almost freaked me out for a minute."

"I expect this relationship will readily mature, however."

"Why do you say that?"

"We are very compatible, don't you agree?"

Trip considered that for a second or two…

"Yeah." He decided. "We actually kinda are, aren't we?"

"I sense as much."

He returned to her neck…but stopped before he reached her face again. Which was disagreeable.

"So…an _exclusive _relationship?"

She tensed somewhat, despite herself.

"You are considering Commander Hess. Whether to pursue a romantic affiliation with her."

"No," He quickly assured. "Just want to understand what I've gotten myself into here."

"I do not object to the various relationships you have and need. I recognize they are necessary for you, being Human. If you are my _t'hy'la_, then I require you to be healthy. But I would find other relationships approaching the level of _t'hy'la _to be threatening."

"Threatening?"

"Hostile or with deliberate intention to cause harm. Requiring an escalating, reciprocal response."

"You make that sound kinda ominous."

"Then I have successfully communicated my position on the issue."

Surprisingly…she sensed his smirk, despite being out of direct view. So that emotion apparently matched the expression very well.

"So Vulcans are jealous, huh?" He smirked.

"Possessive." She corrected.

"There's a difference?"

"Yes."

"Okay, relax. I get it..." He said.

_Finally _returning his attention to her caressing her ears again. Very wonderfully.

"...you're my Vulcan girlfriend."

"I am _vu-t'hy'la_." She murmured.

"I'm giving you a facial massage on the floor of the ready room and you just threatened some hypothetical rival that doesn't exist. That's a girlfriend."

"It is very different…"

"Why I specified _Vulcan _girlfriend. I get it. And don't…"

"_Bridge to the Captain."_

The fingers tugging lightly at her earlobes stopped tugging there. And she found herself in immediate disagreement with whatever had caused that…

"You have _got _to be kidding me." Trip sighed.

"_Bridge to the Captain."_

She felt him reached to his waist, tapping his comm.

"Captain, go ahead Benning."

"_Sir, I think we may have a contact. Might want to step out here..."_

"On my way."

He was on his feet quickly, leaving her suddenly feeling bereft. And it was good that he was forced to stop and retrieve his shirt from the couch. The surprising weakness in her knees made it difficult to stand quickly enough not to have been left behind otherwise.

She still had to retrieve and don her own, of course. And quickly, as he headed straight to the door once he was fully dressed.

The door to the bridge. Where half the staff in attendance there would be able to see clearly into the ready room where she stood.

So she had her shirt on and tugged properly into place again before _that _could happen. Moving quickly thereafter to catch up before realizing…she still wasn't technically allowed on the bridge…

…and that rule had already been broken, so perhaps the Captain would not find it logical to make an issue of it.

She arrived only a few seconds behind but seemed somehow to have missed more than a few seconds worth of exchanged information.

"…when Eckerd picked it up a minute ago." Benning was saying. "That's bounce back from an active scan going on up ahead."

Tucker peered at the command console, where he and Benning stood. Leaning against it with one arm, looking down at whatever information was being pointed out.

"Bounce back." The Captain said. "So we've got something about a light-year out running full scans in _that _direction."

"Yes, sir. That's what it looks like. And they're running full impulse, practically right angle departure to our course."

"So we'd have just missed them." Tucker realized. "And no contact, hail or sign they know we're here?"

"Going back through the logs, I can't see _anything_…"

"Eckerd," He said, turning his head to the Science station. "How the heck did you even pick this up?"

"Honestly, I just got lucky, Captain." He said. "I noticed a few random spikes but nothing worth worrying about. I just ran it through the filter on a hunch. I almost didn't."

"Well, you did. Good work." Tucker said, then turned back to chew his cheek, staring down at the command console again.

Eventually Benning pressed.

"What do you think, sir?"

Tucker shook his head a little, troubled.

"Well…we're still almost two weeks out from waypoint one." He said. "And six days out from where I hope to God the Romulans _aren't_. So I'm thinking how badly we can't afford another run of trouble before we get out there."

"Yes, sir." Benning nodded. "But there's the fact that we don't know what this is. So we don't know if we can afford to pass on by."

T'Pol watched him think about that for a second, then reach out and tapped the console, calling something up there. Pointing it out to Benning.

"Okay, here's Proxima." He said. "Here's _Tempest_. And here's whoever that is out there. So…they're not just running off our path, but running lateral to Proxima. And they're running active scans at full impulse…long range scans, if I'm reading this right…_outbound_. What does that scream at yah?"

Benning's brow was furrowed tight, inspecting the console. And he hesitated.

"I almost want to say…whoever it is is watching for the Romulan fleet. Maybe…"

"Maybe somebody else out here trying to spot them?"

Benning tilted his head doubtfully.

"I don't know, sir…"

"Yeah, I don't like it, either." Tucker said, chewing his cheek. "Can't figure what else they'd be doing out here. They're definitely _looking _for something…"

He huffed then.

"Alright, what else are we gonna do?" He frowned. "Get on Tac, Richard. Light 'em up, Eckerd."

"Yes, sir."

Benning went straight to the Tactical station, taking over for Roscoe who simply nodded and left the bridge. So Tucker was obviously taking over command from Benning. Which left T'Pol in the awkward position of not really belonging on the bridge or having any excuse to be there.

So she stayed to see what happened, until and unless someone cared enough to do something about it.

From where she stood, T'Pol could see something change subtly on the command console. And Captain Tucker immediately turned his attention to it.

Surprisingly…he turned to look over his shoulder at her then. When she would otherwise have assumed he wasn't even aware she'd followed him onto the bridge.

Then glanced back again to tap the console, sending a visual of whatever long-ranges scans had picked up to the central main viewing screen.

It was a ship, of course, but a design she recognized instantly. Because it was Vulcan.

"T'Pol, is that what I think it is?" Tucker said, looking at the screen. "Curved nacelles, but it sure looks Vulcan to me."

"It is." She agreed. "But a class of vessel that hasn't been used in a long time."

At the Comm station, Ensign Judge reported. "They're hailing us, Captain. It's a Vulcan frequency."

"On screen." Tucker nodded.

The visual of the Vulcan ship was immediately replaced by the presumed captain of the vessel. A young Vulcan, interestingly. And…with the barest hint of a smile on his face.

"Greetings." The man said. "I am Tolaris, Captain of the _Vahklas_. It's very good to meet you."

"Tolaris, Captain Tucker of the _Tempest_. Good to meet you. You may not be aware, but there's a little trouble brewing out here. Have you been in contact with Vulcan recently or any other central authority?"

"No, I'm afraid we haven't. We're trying to find our shuttle. It was in the area when we lost contact with it. What trouble are you referring to?"

"It seems the Romulans have decided to declare war. They've mobilized against both sectors here and we're looking at an incoming fleet, indeterminate size, somewhere between five and fifteen light-years out. Coming right through here for Centauri."

"That's alarming." Tolaris said. And indeed, he did look alarmed. "Did I hear you correctly? The Romulans? I wouldn't think they could mobilize a force that large."

"Looks like nobody did. But they have. This really isn't the place to be right now, Captain."

"If what you say is true, then I certainly agree. Unfortunately, we'll have to recover our shuttle before we can leave. And I'm afraid leaving presents its own problem."

"How's that?"

"We've lost warp capability, so we won't be able to leave very quickly. We'd be grateful if you could assist us with that."

Tucker smiled tightly. And hesitated visibly.

But nodded.

"Of course. We'll see what we can do. Give us a minute and I'll have my Comm Officer set up a rendezvous."

"Thank you, Captain. I look forward to meeting you."

The screen went blank.

"Crap." Tucker said, immediately.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**12 Light-years from Alpha Centauri**

Tolaris tapped the controls of the console, ending the communication with the Human ship. Returning his hands then to rest together at his back, considering the surprising situation.

And he sighed slightly.

It was an unfortunate occurrence. Not entirely unexpected, as their encountering a Starfleet vessel of some sort had always been a possibility here…but he'd hoped to avoid complications of that sort.

"Tolaris." The man behind him spoke. "Explain your actions. Is this some kind of trick? As it is, I'm already inclined to dispose of you from an airlock."

Tolaris smiled slightly, responding without turning around to do so.

"You will not do that, Chavek." He said, casually. "It would be very difficult to explain my sudden disappearance to the Humans."

The man stepped up, coming beside him. A Vulcan, to all appearances. But he was not quite Vulcan, of course. Not technically and perhaps not at all.

Tolaris had managed to figure that much out himself already.

"The Humans." Chavek said, evenly. "Starfleet officers, you mean. Who will soon be swarming this ship's engineering room. Eating in the kitchen, walking the halls, examining the control systems on the bridge. And eventually realizing your supposed crew are somewhat unusual for Vulcans."

"I have encountered Starfleet before, Subcommander." Tolaris said, turning to face him. "And they have encountered us. We are already known to be 'unusual'."

"And you expect that we will play that role?"

"It should not prove difficult. You only need to be polite for a time. Is that so hard?"

"Tolaris…" Chavek warned.

"I have encountered them before." Tolaris insisted. "They are trusting to a fault with those who are also trusting. They are very easy to manipulate. They do not take advantage of weakness but respond with benevolent superiority instead. But if you give them _reason _to distrust they will certainly do so. Even to respond cautiously would provoke them to caution. As you saw, we very innocently asked for their help and they freely offered it."

"They will scan the ship, Tolaris, and know instantly that you lied about our warp capability."

"Watch them, Chavek." He said, confidently. And he turned back to the view screen. "Watch and see. They will not scan us. That would be…rude."

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

"Crap." Trip said, frowning.

T'Pol, standing out of the way near the ready room door, considered that expression and what it suggested.

"You find their claims doubtful, Captain?" She asked.

He looked over at her curiously, perhaps even a little confused. Until…

"Oh." He said, smiling. "No, not what they said. The whole situation. _That's _crap."

She relocated to the command console then. Moving there to stand with him, since it seemed she'd finally been included in things.

"You find the situation disagreeable." She asked, to clarify.

"Pretty disagreeable." He nodded. "This is two or three days we can't afford to waste, T'Pol. But now that you've brought it up, I do kinda have that funny feeling."

He spoke over his shoulder then. Before she could ask him to specify what particular humorous emotion he was referring to.

"Benning? Tell me I'm worrying too much."

"All things considered, Captain," Benning said, from his station. "A little tactical paranoia is always a good idea."

Trip smirked at that. Then examined the command console. Stepping aside a little and turning slightly toward her…allowing her room at his side to review it with him.

That was…striking. That he already seemed to have somewhat adopted that very sense of mutuality that had threatened to cause him panic mere moments ago. Which only illustrated how unpredictable and surprising Humans could be. All the more if one's own _t'hy'la _were Human.

She took position at his side, reviewing the console. Turned slightly and comfortably toward him as well, to allow for easy communication between them. And she pondered this and all that it suggested.

It was somewhat discouraging. She would prefer a _t'hy'la _who was predictable. And surprises of any sort typically aroused defensiveness or hostility. She did not appreciate surprises.

So it was discouraging. But she supposed she would adapt, as was necessary. Adaptation was typically required with any new relationship, so she'd expected it would be here as well. The particular adaptations themselves were…alien to her, but hardly impossible to achieve.

"So whatcha think?" He asked, making use of the manner in which they had turned toward one another already to make easy eye contact with her.

She looked again at the command console and the information available concerning the _Vahklas_.

There was very little information concerning the _Vahklas_. So the immediate concern was quite obvious.

"I think," She replied. "If you are concerned there will be trouble but cannot even estimate what it might be…then you should begin first with gathering what intelligence you can. That is what intelligence is for."

He grinned.

"Good point." He said nodding.

Then began speaking in the open again.

"Benning, Eckerd." He said. "Work together, passive sensors only. Get me what you can on that ship. And when they come in, give me a full lateral sensor sweep, short range, three seconds. Make it look like standard procedure, so they have an excuse not to get nervous. It won't give us all that much but it's better than nothing. Don't scan the ship directly unless they scan us first. Judge, you got anything on a _Vahklas_, civilian vessel?"

"No, sir." Sabrina reported. "Nothing on profile reco, nothing on file...or, wait…yes, sir. Looks like the _Enterprise _encountered a _Peskel _class civilian transport, _Vahklas_, out near the Arachnid Nebula, sometime late 2151. Registry matches. Captain was Tavin at the time."

Trip's eyes flickered as he searched his memory…

"Well, that doesn't sound familiar." He said. "Alice, online."

"_Hello, Trip. I see you've encountered the Vahklas. Would you like to review the relevant classified mission reports from the Enterprise?"_

"Yes, Alice. Voiceprint authorization, 'Top dog'. Copy to the command console, please. And translate _Vahklas _for me?"

"_I'm sorry, Trip. Commander T'Pol does not have clearance to review the reports."_

"Oh, right…" He said, turning to her. "Would you mind…?"

He gestured vaguely, smiling oddly. Gestured…apparently in the general direction of the engineering station console.

It was an awkward moment, as she wasn't at all sure what he was trying to communicate. But the situation itself seemed clear, so she stepped out of view of the console and hoped that would resolve the matter.

It apparently did not. Because he apologized then, which only confused her more.

"Sorry." He said, regretfully.

T'Pol searched for the relevance of that but…could find nothing.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"Well…" He said, uncertainly. "I didn't…I mean, I don't want to…make you feel like I don't trust you."

T'Pol stared at him. Then glanced over the command console, where the information she could no longer see presumably was available. Then back at him.

"Trip, the information is classified." She said, patiently. Explaining the matter, since he didn't seem to understand. "It is Starfleet that does not trust me, which is entirely appropriate of them."

"Right." He readily agreed, nodding.

And stared at her for a second, chewing his cheek.

"So never mind." He said, turning his attention back to the console.

T'Pol watched him and pondered that behavior for a moment.

And it was somewhat discouraging. Her _t'hy'la _was indeed unpredictable, often surprising, occasionally discomfiting…and, it would seem, prone to periods in which he was utterly devoid of logic as well.

This was indeed discouraging.

"Go ahead, Alice. _Vahklas?"_

"_Vahklas, Traditional Golic Vulcan. Vakh, alternate form; bold. Lash, alternate form; Vulcan home star. A Vulcan philosophical sect embracing less restricted emotional freedom. Traditional title of the modern V'tosh Ka'tur subculture."_

T'Pol found that interesting. She could of course perceive the traditional Golic rendering of the word-phrase. She hadn't been aware that this was the traditional title of the _V'tosh ka'tur, _however. Or even that they _had _a traditional title. Until now, she would have confidently assumed _'Vahklas' _was merely meant to indicate 'Bold Sun'. A clearly poetical and somewhat emotional name for a starship, but nevertheless.

The language processor's knowledge and understanding of Vulcan languages was quite impressive.

"Translate _V'tosh_…wait, never mind. What am I thinking? Alice, offline."

He turned to her again.

"T'Pol? What's _v'tosh ka'tur _mean?"

She considered for a moment simply referring back him to Alice. That was obviously the logical thing to do here. But it was also just as obviously an attempt to include her again, to balance against the insult he apparently was unable to accept didn't exist.

But she was familiar enough with the term. And perhaps it was logical to play along, humoring him, if that would alleviate…whatever the problem was that he was having.

"_V'tosh _is a term used to indicate Vulcanhood." She said. "A Vulcan or group of Vulcans, essentially. _Ka'tur_…literally, absent logic."

"Vulcans…without logic?" He asked, reasoning that out.

"In fact, that is the traditional translation, yes."

He seemed stunned.

"I didn't know there was such a thing." He said.

"Unfortunately, there is."

"Why 'unfortunately'?" He pounced, instantly. And seriously.

"They embrace a destructive path. Attempting to undermine Vulcan discipline is dangerous and can…"

"Aw, hell." He suddenly huffed. "I knew this was gonna be a thing."

She elevated her favored eyebrow, to indicate her curiosity so that he could address that.

"A thing?" She asked.

"A problem." He explained. "Like I said before. Ten to one we're still here three days from now, somebody'll be in sickbay and I'll wish I had a half dozen more engineers."

"I acknowledge that they are unwise." She said. "But why do you assume issues of that magnitude?"

"Just really got that feeling." He smiled, ruefully.

T'Pol pondered that for a moment.

"The funny feeling?" She asked, to clarify.

"That's the one."

She considered that.

And, so, yes. He was unpredictable, surprising, discomfiting and illogical.

Adjusting to him would be very difficult. And that was discouraging.

But, then again, there was facial massage. So…he remained acceptable, in light of only that. Perhaps even agreeable, considering all of his other qualifications.

So she would adjust.

* * *

><p>Tolaris exited the lift onto the engineering rear deck. Entering the engineering main room with just a few easy steps.<p>

The ship's engineer was at work there, doing…whatever it was exactly that engineers do.

"Kov." Tolaris said, casually. "We seem to have a problem."

Kov was still tense and upset, it seemed. Expressing his frustrations even with how he handled his tools, interacting with the machinery.

Tolaris found that enjoyably humorous.

"Are you talking about these people that have taken over our ship?" Kov asked, tightly. "Or is there some other problem you've found for us?"

"You can't blame me for that." Tolaris admonished. "I am simply…"

"You are cooperating with them." Tov insisted. "And you've taken the Captain's place to do it."

"Tavin is dead, Kov. You should accept that."

"They murdered him! And you are working with his murderers."

"Kov." Tolaris said, a little more sternly now. "Calm yourself. Losing control of your emotions would not be wise now."

"Why are we helping them?" Kov demanded. "Who are these people? They are Vulcan but…they're strange. I have never heard of these kind of people before."

"They are merely criminals." Tolaris assured. "Criminals with criminal minds. Easily manipulated…_if _we do not embrace victimhood ourselves."

Kov struggled for a moment, but seemed to be regaining control.

Tolaris found that he approved of that, so he stepped closer to reassure the engineer.

"There is nothing to fear, Kov. We will master this situation. Even turning it to our favor in the end."

"How can you say that, Tolaris? You've heard them, when they think we are not listening. When they forget we are there. They call themselves Romulans. Is that who the Romulans are? Criminal Vulcans? _Pirate _Vulcans?"

"So it would seem." Tolaris said, dismissively.

"But that can't be true. That's not possible. How could that be possible?"

Tolaris shrugged lightly. "Perhaps they are merely insane. In the end it doesn't matter. If we are wise and careful, we will prevail here."

Kov shook his head, denying.

"We cannot cooperate with them any more." He said, firmly.

Tolaris found that he began to be concerned for Kov then.

He was at risk of becoming a problem.

"Kov, if we are to survive we must cooperate with them for now. Play along with the game, until the opportunity presents itself…"

"No one knows that the Romulans are Vulcan. Don't you understand what that means? We only know this because they don't care if we know. And they don't care because they intend to kill us once we've served their purposes. So we cannot cooperate any more. We must resist."

"Is that the logical thing to do?" Tolaris asked, almost smirking. Almost mocking, in fact.

"Yes, it is." Kov insisted. "If we resist there is a chance of surviving and being free again. If we do not, then we will surely die. And that after serving the interests of these…Vulcan pirates of yours. We are all that is left of the crew."

"We are all that is left because the others resisted." Tolaris pointed out. "You have survived because you were wise enough to follow my leadership."

"Then…it has become wise to resist again. Because we have _not _survived. We have only postponed our death. And at what cost, Tolaris?"

Tolaris smiled mildly, stepping forward to place his hand on Kov's shoulder.

"There is something you've failed to consider, Kov." He said, calmly. "_I_ will survive. You can be sure of that. So if you want to survive as well, then you must not allow yourself to disrupt my plans."

"What plans?" Kov demanded. "You have no plan. You just do whatever they tell you to do!"

"Kov," Tolaris said, gently. "If you don't master yourself and do as you're told, I will be forced to kill you."

Kov stared in surprise.

But Tolaris held his eyes, calmly and intelligently. Until he was able to accept the situation.

"You would do that, Tolaris?" Kov asked, eventually. "You would do that only so that you could survive?"

Tolaris smirked slightly, just enough to communicate his humor and superiority.

"Of course, Kov. And that is _why _I will survive." He said. "If you wish to survive as well, then do not become a problem I must resolve. Be of use to me instead and I will ensure you survive this."

Kov was shaking his head a little again, trying still to deny the reality of the situation. But Tolaris no longer found reasoning with him to be entertaining.

"Now," He said, drawing up straight again. "There is a Human ship, a Starfleet ship, that is coming to meet us. Remember the _Enterprise_? These people will be much the same. I've told them that we have lost warp capability and asked for their help. And they have agreed. Once they've fixed our engines then they'll be on their way. And, Kov…that is what must happen. It's up to you to make sure it does."

"Why not ask _them _for help?"

"Because these Romulans will slaughter them and torture us to death for turning against them." Tolaris said. "And they will have a much nicer ship than they do now, won't they? So what will they need us for?"

"And when they've finished scanning the area for those Starfleet relays, what will they need us for then?"

"They are looking for Starfleet sensor relays." Tolaris said. "_New _ones that have been placed out here very recently, to replace the ones they destroyed days ago. Because they are _invading _this entire sector. Consider that, Kov. We have an opportunity to prove ourselves useful to a free people powerful enough to stand against Vulcan and the entire coalition."

"We _aren't _useful to them. They will murder us."

"_You _are not useful to them. But I am, of course. If you help me, then that will make you useful to _me_, won't it?"

Kov could only stare.

"Make your decision, Kov. Useful or useless. To survive or not to survive. It doesn't really matter to me."

"Tolaris…I think you've gone insane."

"That has been said of many great men. Consider that."

"I will." Kov said, tightly. "I do."

"Good." He nodded. "Now, make sure of whatever you need to do here, so that these Humans can please themselves with being helpful and go on their way again."

"Of course, Captain."

"That's very good, Kov. Do you see how helpful you're being?"

"Yes, Captain. I can be very helpful."

"I have no doubt. Now, off to work. I'll go and take care of things on the bridge. Don't be afraid."

"With you to take care of things, Captain? There's nothing to fear."

That was very pleasing to Tolaris. So he smiled slightly to let Kov know he had pleased him.

And he left engineering, confident in his purpose. Without ever really noticing how tightly Kov had spoken or the fierce resolve in his eyes.

* * *

><p>T'Pol wandered over to the Tactical station while Trip reviewed the classified information concerning the <em>Enterprise's <em>encounter with the vessel.

There she allowed herself to appear only mildly curious, lest Benning be given cause to remember her presence on the bridge presented rather a significant security breach. And she _was _curious, of course, concerning how the tactical station utilized the holographic interface and what effects it had on the station's utility.

To her surprise, he didn't seem concerned at first. Even turning his chair aside, so as not to obstruct her view. Appearing curious himself.

But he considered her rather too seriously, enough to cause her to wonder if her curiosity had led her astray here…

"What do you see, Commander?" He asked.

She gave him an assessing eyebrow in response. Because it was clear then what _he _was curious about.

She examined the station closely and for quite a while. Until Benning cocked his head at her, beginning to wonder if she intended to answer.

"The holographic control layout is ergonomically well designed." She said. "Control is comfortable and efficient. If I intuit correctly concerning the alternating portions of the interactive display, switching between relevant sensor settings is likewise efficient. Also, you have a significant amount of communication with other stations and departments, but all of it in a way that allows information to be reviewed and even applied in the same overall manner, comfortably and efficiently."

She looked to him to judge his reaction.

"What else?" He asked, evenly. With something of a challenge seeming implicit in that.

It was logical to accept the challenge and to prevail in it, of course. This would help ingratiate herself with the crew. So that is what she did.

She turned her attention to the portions of the console she'd intentionally overlooked before.

"The _Vahklas _is vulnerable in a variety of different ways." She said. "This is not unexpected, as it is a civilian vessel. The curved nacelle design was efficient for its time, but the manner in which it and the impulse engine system dominates the rear section of the ship leave it open to attack. Judging from even passive sensor readings, its phase cannons can be expected to have a maximum effective range of 10,000 kilometers. Optimal range under 1,000 kilometers. And considering their placement, there are two blind spots at the rear flanks, which any ship unwise enough not to exploit their limited range could easily exploit instead. Or they could simply target the main power generator, as it seems to be located directly beneath the light armor plating below and to the fore."

Benning grinned widely at that, so she had confirmation that she had passed the test. Not that this was required.

"T'Pol."

Trip called, so apparently the command console was available. And as she wished both to offer her aid to him and to avail herself of the very hub of information for the entire vessel…she went.

"I almost feel like I should apologize again." He snorted. "There wasn't any sensitive information in that file. It was just classified because it was an _Enterprise _report. The Vulcans came aboard, ate some chicken, scanned a nebula, got some free repairs and supplies and went on their way. That's it."

"They…ate chicken?"

"They got a recipe for it, in fact."

"That is disturbing."

"Also means Hess not only met them but worked on their ship." Trip said, smirking. "But she just got discharged about an hour ago, so let's wait until she gets a little sleep before we push her for details. We're talking five years ago here. We'll knock her off the rack about 0600 and see what she's got for us."

T'Pol stared at him a little.

"What?" He said.

"Let's, we and us." She said.

And she waited until he realized the implication.

"Oh." He said. "Is that a problem? I thought the whole 'mutuality' thing was…"

"No, that is gratifying." She said.

Trip chuckled. "Well, good, I guess."

"Yes, it is good." She acknowledged. "But we will not discuss it further in public."

"We're…on the bridge, T'Pol."

"That is not private and therefore public."

"Nobody can hear what we're saying, you know…"

"That is irrelevant."

Trip squinted thoughtfully at her.

"We're not going to be holding hands, strolling through the park anytime soon, are we?"

"Certainly not."

He snorted, grinning slightly.

"You're gonna take some adjusting to."


	41. Chapter 41

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Officer's Quarters, Deck B**

She hadn't actually gotten any sleep in there anywhere. That fact was just beginning to try to find a way to slip through all the languid satisfaction going on all over the place.

Trying but not quite managing it.

She spared a lazy hand to make its attempt at brushing the hair out of her eyes, where she lay with her head on the pillow. Kind of thrown there as it were without having had any real direction put behind it. Much like her hand, which was why it failed to get the hair out of her face as perfectly as she would have preferred.

She was actually sprawled around pretty awkwardly. And that fact tried to get through, too. To let her know she wasn't really as comfortable as everything was telling her quite confidently that she was. But she didn't want to have to move or anything just yet. So she ignored it until it gave up for a while longer.

She breathed deep, past the little grin. Bits and pieces of her nakedness poking out beneath a blanket that had been utterly overwhelmed in the course of its duties. Which would be covering things like that and making sure everything was as warm and secure as everything else.

This was the perfect state of being, she felt. That feeling of utter and complete satisfaction with the universe. The very pinnacle of all things toward which…

"Keyla, your duty shift begins in approximately thirty minutes."

…toward…which perhaps every thought and action would be most…

"If you prefer, I could retrieve fresh undergarments and update your PADD."

You know…she really didn't want to be aware just yet of how unattractive she probably was at the moment.

Sweaty, sticky…hair completely _destroyed_. Just forget about makeup. Pretty sure she was sporting bruises in places that would be hard to explain if anyone noticed...

"Commander?"

She sighed. Because, dammit.

"Tulok," She croaked, lightly. "You're probably not aware of that period of time between having sex and having had sex where a woman isn't really feeling all that attractive."

"Nevertheless, it would…"

"Or wanting to be aware of that. Or anything else. Or talk to people who might be responsible for it."

Tulok paused. But only shortly.

"If you would prefer…"

"Shut up and tell me I'm beautiful. And how that was the most incredible thing you've ever experienced. And how you're already thinking about how you want to do that again with me. That's what you should be doing right now if you insist on ruining my afterglow."

"That is contradictory. It is illogical to suggest that I simultaneously shut up and communicate verbally."

Keyla spared enough lucidity to consider that.

"Okay, was that supposed to be funny?"

"Regrettably, yes."

Keyla snorted through a slight chuckle at that. And rolled over to slide an arm across his chest, resting her head there as well while she was at it.

And then changing her mind, raising things up a bit to kiss him for a minute instead. Because, what the hell. Afterglow time was over anyway and she wasn't quite ready to just lay there feeling messy. And maybe that'd shut him up a bit.

And, damn, he was nicely warm. Should have stayed there in the first place. Why'd she roll over…?

Oh, right. Because of _that_.

Things were nicely comfy _now_, though. So she stuck with the kissing and cuddling for a bit.

And he got into it pretty quick. Began caressing her arm and shoulder as they kissed.

Which…started getting a little…

He stopped when he sensed her hesitation.

"What is wrong?"

"I'm…pretty damned sore, Major."

She _felt _his relief.

"What?" She asked.

"I am very sore as well."

She dropped her face into his neck, already laughing.

"I was concerned." He explained. "I was unsure if I would be able to adequately…"

She laughed more.

"_This is the Captain. Alpha bridge crew and all senior officers, report to the conference room. That is all."_

The universe froze in astonishment.

And waited. Pensively.

Until…

"_Fffffuck!" _Song objected, from somewhere deep within the confines of Tulok's neck and shoulder. "Are you _kidding _me?!"

Tulok found that somewhat startling.

* * *

><p>Tucker rechecked the status reports and updates, ready to be uploaded to individual PADDs and Sisco units. Everything was in order there, just like the other three times he'd checked.<p>

So there was nothing else to do but stand there and wait for the last of the senior staff to arrive. Which would be Song.

The XO, second in command. Who had not arrived promptly and well before everyone else. Like an XO should.

He kinda had a nagging suspicion why, that he didn't want to examine too closely. Because he would not approve of that thing that he didn't want to recognize was the reason she was not standing here waiting to go over the situation.

He distracted himself from that by assessing everyone else who _was _there. Rather than off…doing that thing he didn't want to have to recognize and disapprove of.

Benning looked tired but about as alert as a person could be in such a state. The only thing making that obvious being the fact that he didn't sit down but stood near the table instead. Because if he sat down he'd get comfortable. Then he'd be fighting nodding off instead.

Hess looked…well, first of all she _looked_. Which is to say, she could be seen now and wasn't a big, scary blur anymore. And while that was good, she hadn't had much sleep either. Testified to by the fact that she was currently busy mopping up the cup of coffee she'd stumbled and spilled all over the table before she could drink it. And thank God he'd decided to reinforce the environmental seal over the holographic projectors in there, for just such an occasion.

Steel was nodding off. Fighting it pretty hard but nodding off and startling awake in a fairly rhythmic manner. Enough that Tucker found watching that for more than a few seconds made him sleepy. It was kinda hypnotic.

Downing and Crenshaw had successfully managed to fail to stay awake at all. Both with heads propped up alertly in one hand, elbow planted on the table…but eyes shut and mouths slightly open. Crenshaw even snored a little.

Shran was the only person in the room that was alert, other than T'Pol herself. Both of them standing at the far end of the room. T'Pol assuming the standard Vulcan position, hands at her back, casting her disapproval over all the self-discipline not happening in here.

Shran just casting disapproval in general. Waiting for something specific to throw it at.

His crew was in pretty sorry shape. And that was not good.

Song arrived.

Moving stiffly, almost stumbling. Pushing a glower before her as she made straight for the beverage dispenser.

Fetching a huge cup of coffee which, thankfully, she didn't threaten to approach the table with. She came and stood by him with it instead.

"Good morning." He said, disapprovingly.

"I hate you." Song muttered, over that first sip of coffee.

He continued to stare at her. Since she hadn't seemed to have picked up on the disapproval part.

"I hate you, _sir_." She corrected, taking another sip.

Well, fine then. Whatever.

"Alright, wake up." Tucker announced.

* * *

><p>After maybe thirty minutes they'd managed to all finally wrap their sleepy heads around the situation.<p>

A ship full of illogical Vulcans who needed to be gotten the hell out of there before the Romulan fleet rolled through. Their propulsion systems not needing any kind of major overhaul before they could at least warp out enough to…well, warp _out_. As in away from here, if only as far as Proxima.

But it would take time. More time the fewer engineers they threw at the task. And they only had a grand total of five. Six counting Hess. Seven with the Captain himself. At least five of which would be required here, just to keep _Tempest _in combat ready status.

Because they were almost twelve light-years out from Centauri. The holographic display above the table making clear why _that _was an important point.

"Proxima." Tucker said, indicating the dual star system at the center of the display. Then tapping the little blue chevron near the edge of the global map. "And we're here, with the _Vahklas_."

"Over here…" He said, pointing out the cluster of red circles, a little farther out and figuratively just down the block along the edge of the globe. "…about a half dozen warp signatures Celestial Station just barely managed to pick up for a few seconds. And nothing else there since then."

"Benning," He said. "Think like a Romulan for a minute and tell us what that means."

Benning drew a deep breath, preparing his brain for the process of speaking. And the 'think like a Romulan' thing.

"Alright, well…I'm Admiral Rommie and I'm leading the main fleet in against Proxima." He said. "So…I'm max warp four and I know Celestial Station's going to see me coming if I'm not under cloak. And I can't cloak at warp four, takes too much power. So I park just out of range, go under cloak and advance at maybe warp 2.5. Assuming intel's right and that's their max warp under cloak. I leave one or two ships behind me to dart in and out of sensor range so they can be picked up before _they _go under cloak and follow along. So now it looks like half a dozen ships overshot the mark and got spotted. Celestial thinks there's a small fleet parked out there, waiting to get the signal and start moving in."

Tucker nodded. "And now your fleet's warp 2.5 under cloak, which puts you anywhere between ten and eleven light-years from Proxima by now. Which could be anywhere. Ready to pop up out of cloak and go full warp four when you're close enough that Coleman can't respond any more than you want him to when he sees your main fleet coming in."

"Which I'd want to be maybe five light-years." Benning nodded. "Close enough that I don't have to worry about Proxima getting reinforcements scrambled in. I'm Romulan, so I don't really care if the stupid Centaurians have time to get ready. I know I'm going to plow right over them anyway and be gone before those reinforcements can even reach Earth, much less Centauri."

"Which gives the _Tempest _plenty of time to find you, even under cloak." Tucker said. "Maybe as much as a week or more. Which is great, except that you could either be a light-year or so straight in from where we spotted you…"

He indicated the little cluster of red circles on the edge of the globe.

"…or you could be anywhere in this general area."

Indicating the general area where _Tempest _and _Vahklas _sat.

"So if anyone hasn't had enough coffee to realize," Tucker said. "That means we need to get this done double quick _and _remain combat ready."

Everyone was alert now. For maybe the first time since the meeting started.

Because that rather drove the point home.

The Romulan main fleet could be a week away from being found. Or they could be right on top of them already. Sitting out there somewhere under cloak, watching them. Deciding whether to slip quietly on by or jump out and gobble them up for breakfast before the Proxima main course.

"Hess," Tucker said. "You've worked with these guys before, so you're the obvious first choice."

"That's fine." Hess said, not at all sleepily now, thank you very much. "They're actually pretty easy to work with."

"Good to hear. Anything to add there? What can we expect?"

"Well, they only had one real engineer when we ran into them." She said. "A guy named Kov. Not the _best_, but not bad. Just too much engine and not enough engineers on that ship. I guess _that _situation hasn't changed or we wouldn't be here."

"What about these 'illogical Vulcans'?"

"They're great. You'd love them. Wish you had time to meet Kov, actually. You'd hit it off, I bet."

"Well, maybe I will. Because I'm going."

More than a couple of people perked up at that. Because…

"Uh, sir?" Benning suggested. "Maybe not the best idea, considering that 'combat ready' status."

"Shran's Alpha, with Claiborne second and Ensign James floating." Tucker said, firmly. "Downing's Beta, Crowley's Gamma. That's everybody."

Shran spoke up suddenly, from the rear of the room.

"Claiborne can handle Alpha." She said, flatly.

"And I can't handle you on a ship full of Vulcans, illogical or not." Tucker said.

"I think I can handle…"

"Observe closely, Lieutenant." Tucker said, sharply. "This is me not arguing with you about that."

Tension escalated quickly between the two. Until it was nearly palpable across the room.

But Shran soon relented, to more than a few of her fellow crewman's surprise.

"I realize, Captain…that my recent…difficulties…"

"I've noticed improvement." Tucker said, a little more gently now. "I'm very happy with that. But this is a command decision and I've made it. And I need you here as much I do there. So nod and say, 'Yes, sir', Talla."

Shran gritted her teeth a bit.

But she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Very good." Tucker nodded back. "Now, your Captain isn't completely stupid, Benning, so hold the suggestion you're dying to make for a second. We don't have security to spread around anywhere as it is. But since we already don't have enough it won't be much worse if I took one or two with me."

Benning visibly relaxed at that.

"Yes, sir." He said, "You probably want me on Tac, with either Harrison or Roscoe in relief. I'd go with Harrison since Roscoe'd be the better pick for backup…or, actually, one of the Vulcan crewmen, come to think of it. In fact, that's probably a good idea."

"T'Pol?" Tucker asked, turning his attention to her.

She hesitated.

"Perhaps…not a wise choice."

"Why's that?"

"I would predict inevitable…disagreement between the _Vahklas _crewmen and my own team. This may impact their effectiveness…"

Tucker held up a hand, forestalling any further awkward explanation.

"Right, sorry. Guess I haven't had enough coffee either. That kinda should have been obvious."

"I will go to provide 'backup'."

Tucker was surprised.

"Sure that's a good idea? You just said…"

"The _V'tosh ka'tur _do not concern me, nor do I find them offensive enough that it would threaten to distract me. I am the logical choice for this assignment, for this and other reasons."

Tucker got _that _subtle point easily enough. As well as the necessity of not indicating that out loud in a room full of people. This was a decidedly public venue, after all.

She wasn't about to let her new boyfriend…or _t'hy'la_, as the case may be…go roaming around a ship full of emotional Vulcans.

With Commander Hess.

For a day or two.

"Sounds good." He said, simply. Nodding and accepting that without any further acknowledgement.

So…moving right along…

"Song you've got the chair, Alpha and Beta." He said. "Benning, tactical and Gamma command. I'll leave the rest to you two. Now, there's still the problem of no transporter and one shuttle, so I'm inclined to just hard dock. And we only have one hard dock left. So I'll just point out how we're running out of ways to EVA and let that stand on its own."

A few of them actually chuckled. The rest at least grinned a bit.

So that was good to see. And he was relieved to see it.

"_Vahklas _is ETA three hours." Tucker said. "So let's get ready and _be _ready. Shran, I'm afraid most of what you'll be doing is prepping supplies and setting up a chain. We'll be able to work a lot faster without having to wait for that one little component. You know how _that _is."

"Not a problem." Shran shrugged. "If we're hard docking, I'll just drag the gear out of storage right into the main corridor. It's not as if we have enough crew to worry about blocking traffic. I'll steal Jenson and the Doctor to help with that."

"Sounds good." Tucker nodded. "So we all know where we stand and what we have to do. Let's get to it."

* * *

><p>They met at the equipment lockers three hours later. Hess availing herself of an engineering scanner and the few tools she figured she'd need, in case the Vulcan gear on the <em>Vahklas <em>proved inadequate or incomplete. Tucker doing the same while T'Pol used the opportunity to squirrel away a few small things that she'd apparently brought with her from her own quarters.

Vulcan Intelligence gear that Trip decided quickly not to let himself be too curious about. He remembered the lift full of security officers back on the _Enterprise _and found he really didn't want to know what exactly that was she was hiding in her shoe like that.

Or down her shirt. Or tucking into the waistband of her pants. And that wasn't a bobby pin she was hiding away in her hair either.

Yeah, probably best if he just pretended he didn't notice any of that.

He stepped over to the weapons locker in the next room then, leaving T'Pol and Hess alone.

And T'Pol surprised her by turning on her the instant he was out of sight.

"Commander," She said. "I realize you are not Vulcan and so there are subtleties you are unaware of."

Hess blinked in surprise.

"Huh?"

"We have been distrustful and antagonist toward one another up to this point." T'Pol said. "I would prefer it if we were able to overcome that and accept one another. At the very least, to establish a mutually respectful working relationship."

"Oh." Hess said, frowning a little.

"I am prepared to work toward that end, if you are willing as well."

Hess sighed, not at all happy to be having this conversation all of a sudden.

"That's fine, Commander. I don't have a problem with that. But I think we're going to have to talk about you and Tucker. I'm a little concerned about some things…"

"I'm afraid that is not your concern. And understand I don't wish this to be a point of contention between us. I would prefer otherwise, as I have said."

"Well, it may just have to be. He's the Captain of the ship."

"He and I have already had the appropriate discussion regarding that. And we have reached a mutually satisfactory agreement."

"What agreement?"

"I will not discuss that with you, as it is a private matter." T'Pol said, respectfully. "However, I also cannot allow any threat to that relationship."

Hess threw her brow up at that. _"Relationship?"_

"Yes." T'Pol acknowledged. "And that is as willing as I am to discuss the matter. Again, I do not intend to provoke you to disagreement. If you wish to discuss this with Captain Tucker yourself, I will allow that."

"_Allow _it?"

"In the meantime, it is enough that you are now aware a relationship exists which would be inappropriate to intrude upon. So that if you do, I can know that it is intentional. Barring that, however, I hope we are able to…respect one another. And I am willing to extend whatever courtesy is required to that end."

Hess just stared.

What the hell was all _this?_

Tucker entered the room, phase pistols in hand. And the fact that something was going on hardly escaped his attention. So he came to a halt right inside the door.

"Is there a problem in here?" He asked.

"There is no problem." T'Pol said, already having turned away and approached to receive her weapon. Taking it and mounting it on the rest available on her duty uniform belt.

Hess was still squinting at her from where she stood. Pondering what the hell had just happened.

"Hess?" Tucker asked, becoming a little concerned.

"It's fine." Hess said, absently. "We were just talking…wait, what's with the phase pistols?"

Tucker glanced down at them, before mounting his own and offering her the other. With a smirk.

"Trip, that's…not exactly protocol."

Tucker grinned outright at that. "Well, this isn't the _Enterprise_. Tactical paranoia, Commander."

Hess accepted the weapon hesitantly. And mounted it on her own uniform, not at all comfortable with that.

"What's 'tactical paranoia' mean?"

"Means bring a phase pistol."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Vahklas<br>**__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Starboard Airlock**

The airlock cycled and opened, revealing the Human Starfleet officers who'd come to rescue the poor Vulcans from their troubles.

But any mild amusement Tolaris may have enjoyed at that was immediately lost to a small amount of shock. The Captain of the Starfleet vessel had actually come himself. And that was unexpected.

As was the fact that all three of them were armed. Which was almost a concern.

He recovered easily, of course.

"Captain Tucker." He said, with the vaguest of welcoming smiles. "I'm very happy to meet you in person. And…Lieutenant Hess. I'm surprised to find you here."

"I transferred over." Hess said, smiling. "And it's Commander now, actually. Good to see you again, Tolaris."

"Good to see you." He nodded politely.

"Looks like you got promoted a little yourself." Hess grinned. "Did Tavin retire or something? Go home to Vulcan?"

"Retirement of a sort, yes."

"Well, good for him. I'm sure he deserved it."

"Yes, perhaps he did."

He turned back to Tucker then, unaware of Hess's slightly puzzled look.

"But I did not expect you to come yourself, Captain." He said. "That's a welcome surprise."

"We're a little short-staffed at the moment." Tucker explained, apologetically. "Running a skeleton crew right now and I just didn't have the engineers to spare."

Tolaris allowed his curiosity to approach the surface.

"I don't understand."

"Right, sorry. I'm an engineer myself. Specializing it orbital engineering and starship design but I _was _Chief Engineer on the _Enterprise, _up until just a few months before they ran into you."

"I see." Tolaris said, appreciatively.

And he noticed…the third member of the team then. A Vulcan. Wearing a Starfleet uniform, curiously enough.

Very attractive physically and…her emotions close to the surface, enough that he recognized that almost immediately. She reacted observably to a variety of details she took note of as she examined her surroundings.

That was…very interesting.

"And who is this?" He asked, with interest.

"Commander T'Pol," Tucker said, introducing her. "Security."

Tolaris spared a mildly curious look at the Captain over that.

"Just thought she'd appreciate the chance to meet you people." Tucker explained. "And she was slated to be the _Enterprise's _initial Vulcan advisor. So I guess we _both _missed the chance."

"I understand." Tolaris said, politely. Already returning his attention to…T'Pol. "I'm very glad to able to meet the both of you after all."

He turned slightly to introduce the two men with him.

"This is Selek, my second. And Sabok, our security officer."

Tucker nodded politely to them, leaving it at that.

But the female…T'Pol…she examined them closely. And quickly, processing a number of observances easily and efficiently. And displaying a few barely discernible emotional reactions in the process of that.

Disapproval and disagreement, mostly. No small measure of contempt.

A little…envy, perhaps?

Yes, that was very interesting indeed.

Tolaris gestured down the hall.

"If you'd like, I can escort you to our engine room. Or, if you prefer, we can share a meal. A chance to meet some of my crew?"

"I'd love to, Captain." Tucker said, with some regret. "But we're a little short on time. I'd prefer to get right to work, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Tolaris said, easily.

He turned to lead the way, his two apparent subordinates trailing behind politely.

"I noticed your ship, Captain." He said, as they walked. "A very unusual design for Starfleet."

"That she is." Tucker grinned. "Sort of a prototype."

"The reason for the…'skeleton crew' you mentioned."

"Something like that."

"I'm curious why you're out here, if the Romulans really are moving through here in force. It must be as dangerous a situation for you as it is for us. I would have expected a number of ships, if you meant to engage them here."

"Well, we don't plan on hanging around and throwing them a welcome party." Tucker said. "Just a quick mission and we're falling right back to Proxima."

"A mission?" Tolaris said, appreciatively. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not really. Just dropping a couple passive sensor buoys. We'll be gone before they pass through. In fact, we might even catch up with you on the way. If we do, you can always fall in and we'll escort you to Proxima."

"That would be appreciated." Tolaris said, smoothly. "I hope you can complete repairs quickly. I would be disappointed if our problems delayed you for very long."

"Well, that's the plan." Tucker grinned.

"Then we should get you to it. And again, I appreciate your help, Captain. I was very relieved to find Starfleet had come to help us. I'm sure we'd have been lost without you."


	42. Chapter 42

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Engineering Section, Deck B**

T'Pol hardly failed to notice the Captain's attentions. Being Vulcan, of course, it was unlikely his behavior was rooted in any form of physical attraction. Despite that seeming to her, strangely enough, to be precisely the case.

It was more likely the result of her having been among Humans for as long as she had already, and under the conditions that she had. Many males on the _Tempest _had displayed obvious, even outrageous by Vulcan standards, degrees of interest in that manner, whether they were consciously aware of it or not. Not only with her, of course, but with largely any female on the ship they found attractive. Which was typically all of them.

They were Human, after all.

So she'd obviously become accustomed to that, enough to assume it when an unusual amount or manner of attention was received.

The real reason for his interest soon occurred to her of course, once she realized her initial perceptions must be mistaken.

She was new. A new Vulcan and the first of which he'd interacted with in a very long time. So his over-interest was understandable, if not necessarily acceptable. Perhaps he would reexamine the appropriateness of his behavior if she called his attention to that fact…

"I understand, Captain Tolaris, that you have been away from Vulcan for some time." She noted. "As much as thirteen years."

"That's true." Tolaris said, smoothly. "I'm sure you can understand why that would be convenient."

"Vulcan is somewhat intolerant of your philosophy." T'Pol acknowledged. "And rightfully so."

That small hint of possible friction was enough to attract Trip's attention for a moment, looking over with sudden interest at the discussion going on next to him. T'Pol having found herself walking between the two of them at some point.

She found herself relieved at that, oddly enough. But it was not unwelcome or unproductive, so she decided not to suppress that sense of relief too harshly.

"You should keep an open mind, T'Pol." Tolaris suggested. "There may be more to this way of life than you've been told."

"It was not my intention to express disagreement with your philosophy." T'Pol corrected. "Although I do disagree, I merely intended to acknowledge the wisdom of Vulcan society being intolerant of it. It would represent a disruptive influence that Vulcan discipline cannot allow itself to tolerate."

Tolaris examined her then. Perhaps with more familiarity than she would otherwise be comfortable with.

"_You _almost seem tolerant, T'Pol." Tolaris said, appreciatively. "However you might claim to disagree."

"It's Commander T'Pol. And yes, I find tolerance to be logical in most cases. Until I become aware of evidence to the contrary. I understand you've managed to develop methods that allow for a generally stable environment here, however unwise and inferior it may be to embracing Vulcan discipline."

"We don't reject Surak's teaching, nor have we abandoned logic." Tolaris suggested. "Have you studied the _Kir'shara_? I understand the original writings have been found to confirm much of…"

"Yes, I am familiar with it." T'Pol interrupted, already growing weary of his manner. "I have a copy, if you require it. What it teaches stands in stark contrast to your way."

Trip cleared his throat.

"I guess this is the engine room we're coming up on, Captain?" He said.

Tolaris gazed across at him…with mild amusement. And nodded.

"Yes, it is." He said. "I'll leave you to your work there, of course."

Trip nodded. And not very politely.

T'Pol found herself concerned, in that Trip might be at risk of displaying some measure of possessiveness himself.

Not at all unwelcome, of course. But not productive in the current situation.

They came to a halt then, standing outside the engine room.

"Here we are." Tolaris said, almost grandly. "I'm sure our engineer will be very helpful to you. However…I would assume, T'Pol, being a security officer, you'd more interested in reviewing our security department."

T'Pol almost hesitated.

The logical thing to do, of course, would be to show casual interest and acceptance of that. Touring the security department was precisely what she would prefer to do, given the choice. It was the most strategic and potentially effective place for her to be, if she was to provide the 'backup' that she'd ostensibly come here to provide.

And the choice was apparently being offered freely. A rare opportunity.

But she was tempted to hesitate nonetheless. Because she found the Vulcan Captain…disturbing.

Fortunately, she was disciplined enough that she did not allow aberrant emotional reactions of that sort to interfere with seizing rare and potentially profitable intelligence opportunities.

"Of course, that would be very interesting, Captain." She said…

…instead of rebuffing his behavior with open disgust. As she was suddenly dismayed to find she would have preferred to do.

"Excuse us a minute, Captain?" Trip suddenly interjected. Rather firmly.

And took her arm, to lead her away down the hall a few paces.

She found that…rather encouraging. Not quite the proper behavior of one's _t'hy'la_…more that of a mate…but nonetheless encouraging.

"T'Pol," He said, quietly. Once he had separated her from…what she assumed he must perceive as a threat of some sort. "I know that's probably right where you'd rather be…but you think that's a good idea? This guy kinda creeps me out."

"It is the most logical place for me to be. I am not an engineer." T'Pol pointed out. "And he can of course hear you, Trip."

He paused at that, glancing slyly at the Vulcan Captain down the hall. Not nearly, or even anywhere near, far enough down the hall that a Vulcan male could not clearly overhear what was said, however quietly spoken.

"Well…" Trip said, slightly abashed. "He still creeps me out."

"There is no cause for concern." T'Pol assured. "I will tour the security department for a time, while you begin repairs on the ship's propulsion system. I will rejoin you shortly."

Trip frowned at that…but seemed to relent. Perhaps recognizing his overreaction.

However…

She glanced meaningful down at her arm. With an eyebrow for emphasis. Because he was still holding her fast there.

He released her immediately, clearly surprised at his own behavior. So she reassured him, not wanting to discourage the very positive sense of possessiveness she was pleased to find he'd developed.

"I will return." She said again. "It has been some time since you were able to work with a warp propulsion system. Avail yourself of that opportunity, while I do the same."

"Okay, fine." He grumbled.

"I will return." She assured, for the third time. As much because she found it logical to do so as she found it gratifying.

He entered the engine room then. Not pleased but displaying a proper measure of self control again.

But she paused to allow herself a moment to review what had happened here. And it was indeed encouraging and gratifying. So she turned and rejoined the Vulcan Captain, so that he could escort her to the security department.

Only realizing then that she'd left Trip in the company of Commander Hess. Who she was not yet confident fully perceived the logic of maintaining a respectful working relationship…and nothing more…with her _t'hy'la_.

That was decidedly _not _gratifying.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest<br>****Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Commander Song stood at the command console.

Rather than sitting in the chair. Despite that being what every cell in her body pitifully whined for her to do. Because she was perfectly aware they'd all immediately gang up on her and knock her unconscious the second she got anywhere near as comfortable as that.

She hadn't stayed up partying all night and then gone straight to work from that…which was what she'd effectively done here…in something like six years or so.

It kind of made her wonder if she was at risk of getting too old for that crap. Or maybe she'd just forgotten how absolutely horrible it felt.

She rubbed her face, trying to generate some awareness that might seep in there and take hold. If only for a few seconds. Sighing harshly through pursed lips, forcing her eyes open as widely as possible, _commanding _them to get used to that and stay the hell _focused_…

Coffee suddenly appeared in front of her. A large cup of it, smelling amazingly of vanilla. It floated right on by and came to rest gracefully on the edge of the console.

Tulok's hand was attached to it. And the rest of him attached to that.

She grinned, tilting her head at him when he came fully into view.

"You're not supposed to be on the bridge, Major." She grinned.

"Yes," Tulok said, seriously. "That is certainly true."

"If Benning catches you, he might take it into his head to reassert his authority around here. Make an example of you."

"It seemed productive to ensure the acting Captain of the vessel remained alert." Tulok reasoned. "I am of course willing to risk such repercussions in order to do what is logical."

"And you're ever the logical guy aren't you?"

Tulok paused, staring at her…suggestively.

"Perhaps not always, Commander."

Well.

Mm _hmm_.

Song snorted lightly at that, reaching for the cup.

"You're at risk of making me comfortable with your service, Major." She warned.

"A weakness for which, I find I'm developing." He admitted. "One that may prove difficult to master."

"I can't express the depths of my sympathy for you." Song said, sarcastically. "Now get off the bridge before I have you thrown in the brig."

Tulok nodded slightly and began to depart.

But hesitated a short moment.

"Would you perform the interrogation yourself, Commander?" He asked, curiously. "Or would you leave that to Benning?"

Song smirked outright then.

"Hypothetically." He stipulated, as an afterthought.

"I'm sure Commander Benning wouldn't be quite as comfortable making use of those Vulcan interrogation methods we discussed, Major."

"Suggestions of that particular nature, intended to undermine discipline…that _is _an effective technique." Tulok agreed. "I would find that difficult to resist."

"I don't think a mere suggestion would be as effective as I'd prefer." Song said, with mock regret.

"Then I find incarceration less disagreeable than previously." Tulok admitted. "But I think it would be more productive if you were to practice that particular interrogation technique beforehand."

Song eyed him speculatively then. With amusement, but rather piercingly as well.

"I think you're proving to be a little too confident in yourself, Major." Song decided. "We'll have to do something about that."

"How very unfortunate." Tulok said, evenly. "I'm sure I would be tremulously humbled if I were any less disciplined than I am."

Song grinned openly then. And wickedly.

"Precisely what I was thinking, Major."

Tulok ticked an eyebrow at that, but nothing more.

"Now get off the bridge." She smirked. "I've got work to do. But don't worry, I'll get to you soon enough."

He spared her a quick reassessment, one that covered her from head to foot…but departed without further comment.

Song casually reviewed the command console as he did so, sipping her coffee.

And she smirked to herself a little. Because she already had a few very interesting ideas concerning that.

* * *

><p>Trip stepped into the Vulcan engine room. But he was little too irritated to be as amazed and captivated as he normally would be.<p>

It was just exactly hot enough on this ship to be uncomfortable. And the gravity was just high enough to be aggravating.

But mainly he just did _not _like that creepy assed Vulcan Captain, Tolaris. And he sure as _hell _didn't like the idea of T'Pol wandering off with him to go play with…security stuff…or what the hell ever...

But there was a short, portly Vulcan standing there looking at him.

And damned if that just wasn't something you don't see every day. So that got his attention.

"Hey." Trip said, surprised.

And…

"Uh…Captain Tucker of the _Tempest_." He said, grinning. Once he'd remembered not to be rude. "I understand you've got some engine trouble."

The guy just stared, looking a little shocked.

Then he spotted Hess and seemed to snap out of it a little.

"Lieutenant!" He exclaimed.

With a little alarm. So…maybe he hadn't snapped out of whatever that was after all.

Trip almost turned to introduce the two, before realizing simultaneously that this must be Kov, so he already knew Hess, and that…a Vulcan had just nearly shouted in surprise right in front of him.

So, yeah. A short, portly Vulcan who shouted in surprise. Not something you see everyday.

"Kov!" Hess beamed, coming around him. Since he was apparently standing in the way of everything.

"Lieutenant…what are you doing here?" Kov asked, both surprised and concerned.

"Well, good to see you, too, Kov." Hess chuckled. "How've you been?"

"I have…I'm doing fine…what are you doing here?"

Hess finally looked a little puzzled. So Trip didn't feel quite so out of place around here anymore, which he supposed was real nice of her.

"We came to help." Hess said, still smiling but a little confused anyway. "What's wrong?"

Trip noticed the guy's eyes shift away, off toward something up high behind him. But it was fleeting, so he almost disregarded it.

Almost. Except for that tactical paranoia thing.

"Nothing." Kov insisted, nervously. "I'm just surprised to see you."

He paused for a beat…

"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant Hess." He said, more properly now.

Hess chuckled at that, still a little puzzled.

"Well, okay." She said. "Good to see you, too. But, look…the Captain's kind of in a hurry. Why don't you show us what the problem is, then we can catch up while we get to work?"

"Of course." Kov said, nodding…a little too eagerly. "Right this way."

Trip already had a few things to gnaw on here all of a sudden, but he did finally manage to realize he was standing in the middle of a late 21st century Vulcan transport engine room.

And that immediately put everything else out of mind, so that a sense of wonder and eagerness to pick everything apart for examination took completely over.

He gazed around grinning. Already finding a dozen things he'd like to poke around at.

He looked all the way around. At everything.

So he noticed the surveillance camera up high in the wall in the corner. Interesting only in that it differed a lot in appearance that the Starfleet version. Which really wasn't all that interesting, actually. It was Vulcan, so of course it'd _look _different.

His gaze had already passed over that to the next half dozen interesting things when he realized _that's _what Kov had glanced so nervously at a minute ago.

Hess had followed Kov in the meantime, right over to the main monitoring station where it was set almost flush with the reactor itself.

"I'm sure you'll see what the problem is." Kov said, nervously. "I hope you can help."

Hess spared him another uncertain smile, still a little puzzled at his nervousness.

But she took a look.

And recoiled just a little in surprise.

The problem was obvious. The plasma injectors were disengaged. All of them.

"Kov…you realize…"

"I hope you can help." Kov interrupted. "I've been working on the problem for days now."

Hess stared over at him for a second.

"Kov, your pla-…"

"Do you think it might have something to do with the plasma injectors?" Kov asked, anxiously.

Interrupting her again.

Hess squinted at him a bit.

"Well…" She said carefully. "Yes. They're all…"

"They're rather old, I know." Kov said, regretfully. And nervously. "But we'll just have to make do with what we've got."

Hess turned back to the monitor screen. Just to be sure she wasn't being crazy here. It was all in Vulcan but the critical displays were all clear enough anyway.

So…yeah. Every single one of the plasma injectors had been disengaged. Not removed completely…just twisted and pulled out to the disengaged position. Which couldn't possibly have been anything but perfectly intentional.

"Maybe we should take a look?" Kov suggested.

Hess…wasn't stupid or anything. But the idea she was starting to get was a bit hard to accept at first.

"Uh, sure." She said, uncertainly. "Maybe it's something simple?"

"I hope so." Kov said.

Suddenly very serious.

"If we can fix it quickly, you can go on your way." He said, meaningfully. "I don't want to keep you here, Hess."

Hess nodded slightly, staring back at him.

And, yeah. She was starting to get it.

"Okay." She said, nodding. Serious herself now.

She turned to find the Captain.

He was already on his way over. And he looked a little serious, too.

"Uh…Captain?" Hess asked, tentatively.

"It's fine, Hess." Trip said, evenly. "Let's get to work."

"Captain…I think…"

"Get to work, Commander." Trip repeated. And he stared at her. A lot like Kov just had.

So…yeah. Maybe she wasn't crazy. And whatever was going on here really was going on here.

"Yes, sir." She said.

They got to work. And it didn't take long to fix. Because the plasma injectors were readily at hand and required nothing more than being twisted and pushed back into position.

Trip made a bit of show of it. Checking things, scanning things…poking and prodding a bit before casually twisting and shoving the injectors back in place. So Hess followed suit. As did Kov.

Still didn't take more than twenty minutes.

* * *

><p>The security department for the <em>Vahklas<em>…was apparently little more than a security monitor room. A small room, staffed by only one person.

That person's embrace of emotional freedom apparently resulted in their perceiving open, glowering disapproval to be appropriate. Almost outright hostile glowering.

T'Pol ignored it, standing there with the Captain of the ship as she was, but the fact remained…

There was nothing of interest here.

Or almost nothing.

She did manage to spend a moment casually observing Trip in the engine room. To reassure herself he was safe from any inappropriate behavior by Commander Hess. They seemed to be hard at work, though. Not even socializing at all in the process of it, that she could see.

Indeed, her _t'hy'la _had apparently gone far too long without participating in any of the engineering related activities he clearly preferred. He was quite thoroughly engrossed with it. So perhaps this was a healthy thing for him and it was good that he'd decided to attend to this personally.

The Captain, Tolaris, questioned her while she pretended to examine the security arrangement. Which, of course, was limited almost entirely to the single monitor screen.

"And you have never experimented yourself?" He was asking. "Most Vulcans do, if only at a young age."

"I have, of course." T'Pol said. "And not only when young, as a form of rebellion and assertion of independence."

"Did you?" Tolaris asked, interested. "Tell me about it."

"There is little to tell." T'Pol said, watching absently as Trip worked busily down in the engine room. "I experimented for a time, discovered emotion was as dangerous and destructive as I had been warned and returned to a proper embrace of discipline."

"But you experimented." Tolaris insisted. "As an adult. Testing the boundaries that confined you."

"Indeed." She acknowledged. "And confirmed the necessity of those boundaries."

Tolaris was not deterred with that, apparently.

"You realize that it's unusual for adult Vulcans to do that." He pointed out.

"I am an unusual Vulcan." She said, simply.

"I've noticed." Tolaris said.

And now, at least, the suggestiveness of the remark was unmistakable. As were his intentions. If not precisely what, then at least how inappropriate and unacceptable they were.

T'Pol turned to him, with proper detachment.

"I appreciate you taking the time to show me your security department, Captain." She said. "I will return to the others to aid in repairs now."

And she left, exiting the so-called security department.

He followed, which despite that being not at all remarkable, was nonetheless surprisingly disturbing.

"Would you like to bring something to drink to your Captain, T'Pol?" Tolaris asked, behind her. "We keep our life support settings light, as you can tell. For a less stressful environment. But they must be slightly uncomfortable still for Humans. I'm sure he would appreciate refreshment by now."

T'Pol considered that. And, yes, Trip likely would find that helpful.

She nodded. "Very well. What do you have available?"

"Our mess hall is right here." He said, gesturing at the door directly across from the monitor room. "You're free to select whatever you like."

She walked over. And she peered inside, once the door cycled open.

It was occupied by several crewman, all sitting around conversing, drinking and eating. All three at once, in fact. Which was not at all proper Vulcan behavior, normally.

She entered regardless, properly ignoring all of the inappropriate behavior being displayed. A large part of that being the utter quiet that descended when she entered. And the intense staring by everyone there that accompanied it.

Again, outrageous behavior. But further proof that the philosophy these people embraced was inferior. The merest common courtesy was too simple a thing for them to have failed to show.

She made her way to the beverage dispenser, secured a sealable beverage container and chose cool water. It was the most logical choice for a cooling refreshment from among the meager selection the dispenser offered.

Tolaris was there, standing just precisely too close when she turned around to leave again.

"The Human, Tucker, is your _t'hy'la_, isn't he?" Tolaris asked, curiously. "I find that very interesting."

"And why do you find that interesting?" T'Pol queried. "Or any of your concern?"

"Interesting in that it suggests you have not so abandoned emotionality as you say. You seek it even there."

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow at that, appreciatively.

"Perhaps." She admitted. "That would be a logical assumption. If you were correct."

"I think I am." Tolaris said, confidently. "But there is a better way. One much more readily at hand."

T'Pol allowed herself to project disapproval.

"Yourself, I assume." She said.

"Of course." Tolaris smiled. Smiled almost openly. "Myself and this ship. This way of life."

"I appreciate the offer, Captain." T'Pol said, evenly. "But I am already obligated to duties…"

"Your Starfleet." He said, dismissively. "I can arrange for you to be released from that."

T'Pol…arched her eyebrow then.

Because that was a bold…and obviously ludicrous…statement. Never mind that she was not beholden to Starfleet at all, as he had assumed. But his suggestion that he might be able to effect the release of _anyone _from such a duty…

"That is quite doubtful, Captain."

"I can be very persuasive, T'Pol." Tolaris assured. And with no small about of inappropriate suggestion yet again.

This was growing not only quite disturbing, but frankly wearisome.

T'Pol drew a breath, preparing to make her position as clear and firm as the situation obviously required.

Then she noticed.

The thing she should have…would have…noticed before. Had she not been so distracted by the Captain's odd behavior.

Two of the crewmen in the room. Two among those even still glaring at her with barely restrained hostility.

There was the faintest suggestion of…ridges on their foreheads. Ridges she would recognize instantly, were these not so poorly disguised. As it were, it took nearly a second for her to recognize them. And to recognize precisely what this meant.

She returned her attention to Tolaris, having to all appearances barely glanced around the room.

And she tilted her head, appearing thoughtful for a moment.

"Perhaps, Captain." She said. With much less disapproval now. "I will consider it, of course. And if you are as persuasive as you claim, perhaps you can persuade me."

She reached to tap the comm at her belt, nodding appropriately to Tolaris.

"T'Pol to the Captain."

He answered quickly.

"_Captain, go ahead."_

"If you will be awhile with the repairs, I may be delayed longer than anticipated."

"_Why?"_

"There is a matter that Captain Tolaris wishes to discuss with me. I believe it may be important."

"_I'd rather wrap this up quick, Commander."_

"It should not take long, then we can be on our way to Risa."

A short pause.

"_Say again?"_

"Risa, Captain." T'Pol said, allowing disapproval into her voice. "I'm sure you've not forgotten your promise. To see the sunset there before imminent hostilities make that prohibitive."

"_I remember, T'Pol."_

"Very well. If you complete your repairs before I am free again, I'll return to the ship shortly."

"_Understood."_

T'Pol nodded to Tolaris, with deference.

"I have a little time to spare now, Captain." She said. "Make your proposal."


	43. Chapter 43

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Subcommander Chavek's assignment to this mission carried with it an unmistakable suggestion of both disapproval and confidence by his superiors. He had not been quite so oblivious as to miss that fact.

An important mission, of course. Seize the Vulcan vessel, assume the place of the crew, search for and destroy passive sensor relays that may have been redeployed along the approach to Centauri. Or simply scout any Starfleet vessel attempting to deploy those relays.

But it was practically a suicide mission. If they managed to actually encounter a Starfleet vessel deploying relays or even simply scouting for the fleet itself, conflict would be inevitable. The Humans could certainly be expected to scan any lone vessel they encountered in the area, if not outright board and search it.

Being scanned would require the _Vahklas _to immediately attack, for fear that Starfleet life sign sensors were accurate enough to perceive that they were Romulan. Intelligence remained uncertain on that point and the situation would represent only the brief opportunity to seize the element of surprise, if acted upon quickly. Which would avail them little but the opportunity to die gloriously, of course. Likewise any attempt to board would require them to fight, but also most likely result in half of them being forced to commit suicide, serving the Empire in that way instead.

So the mission represented disapproval over his recent small failures as Subcommander, suggesting he was expendable. And confidence that a mission of relative importance could still be entrusted to him.

It behooved Chavek then not to behave foolishly here. Were he confronted with a situation requiring expending his life and those of his subordinates he would do so without hesitation, of course. But were it possible to actually succeed in this mission and survive to report that success, then that is what the Empire expected of him.

So he'd moved cautiously and decisively. He'd taken advantage of the opportunity presented by the strange little Vulcan creature when that had been presented. And while loathsome, the man had at least provided them with an engineer familiar with the vessel and able so far to keep them up and running.

And yet again he'd taken a risk that other officers would not have displayed the forethought to even consider. The Vulcan had assured them that the Starfleet vessel could be easily manipulated into not only upgrading their engines but departing and leaving them to return to their mission. Without so much as searching the ship, questioning anyone or even actively scanning them.

It had been a small risk, of course. Hence his taking it. Otherwise he would simply have attacked the vessel, and he and his men would all be dead now. No worse than anything that could have happened had the Vulcan proven every bit as insane as he seemed. Again, they would all be dead while, perhaps at best, taking a few Starfleet crewmen with them and damaging their ship a little.

Almost surprisingly, Tolaris had proven correct. The ship had actually docked with them, without having actively scanned them and without seizing the ship for inspection. They hadn't searched anything, hadn't questioned anyone and had simply proceeded directly to the engine room to very politely and helpfully effect repairs.

That was humorous enough. And he would otherwise be very eager to rendezvous with the fleet, report his mission a success and enjoy relaying the story to anyone and everyone who would hear it. He would probably be famous for a while.

It would have made for a remarkably entertaining story.

But the fact remained…the Captain of the Human vessel had actually boarded the ship to conduct those repairs himself. He was there, even now, hard at work in the engine room. With only two crewman in his company.

One of those Tolaris had even managed to lead away. To the mess hall, according to internal sensors. Where no less than five of his subordinates and Tolaris himself practically had her cornered.

And if that weren't enough, the Starfleet vessel was a 'prototype'. The Captain had referred to it as such quite openly.

As well as the fact that the ship was currently manned by a 'skeleton crew'. Which according to his data unit, meant the least number of crewman possible for the ship to even function.

Passive sensor readings confirmed that. There were exactly twenty-five crewman attached to the ship. Including the three currently on the _Vahklas_.

It was almost astounding, this opportunity that had practically fallen from the sky to strike him on the head and land comfortably in his pocket. This was the very ship they had been deployed to deal with, in one way or another.

So it was perfectly obvious what he should do here.

But he continued to move cautiously and decisively, as that had benefited him well so far.

Cautiously in that he waited patiently and observed carefully. Giving things time to progress until he was absolutely certain his perception of the situation was accurate.

Decisively in issuing the orders he did now, taking advantage of the current, very perfect situation to seize the Starfleet vessel and exterminate its crew.

* * *

><p>Trip thought furiously and quickly, hand still hovering over his Sisco unit.<p>

He hadn't missed the glaringly obvious reference to Risan sunsets there. Cooper and Kalella's subtle test and affirmation…in a situation where everyone else around them might not be who they seemed.

Might be shape-shifting monsters that wanted to eat you, in fact.

Hadn't missed the 'imminent hostilities' warning either.

Or the suggestion that he should 'complete your repairs', which probably meant 'get the hell out of there'.

The 'before I am free again' thing…that could have meant she was being held captive somehow. Or, more likely, whoever was around her simply _thought _they were holding her captive and she'd be on her way back to him once she'd kicked their asses.

He kinda preferred that interpretation. And it really did seem more likely.

Wasn't about to take chances though. So, first, the 'get the hell out of there' thing.

"Alright, let's go." He said sharply, already leading the way to the door.

Hess and Kov, who'd at least picked up on the idea that the short Sisco conversation meant the jig was up and it was time to skedaddle…promptly skedaddled right behind him.

He hadn't expected to run into trouble right outside the door, though.

And he had occasion later on to realize and grieve for the fact that, if he had chosen to be more cautious just then, exercising the tactical paranoia he otherwise would have…Hess probably wouldn't have died.

He was through the door quickly, ready to make straight for that monitor alcove he'd passed getting here. From there, availing himself of that partial cover, scanning the length of the corridor before moving on down to the airlock.

They'd practiced boarding actions in the holochamber a hundred times. That'd been drilled into all their heads. Taking cover as you moved, covering one another and moving in turn, clearing corners…and clearing portals.

He simply forgot to do that. He'd focused on doing all that once he got out in the hall.

A simple mistake, easy to make. But a potentially fatal one. Hence portals and doorways being referred to as they as were as 'fatal funnels'. They were obvious chokepoints.

He didn't realize his mistake until he was through the door and out into the corridor. Too late then, though he thankfully wasn't cut down immediately.

He fell right into the sights of the two guys with energy rifles out there instead. They had him under threat before he'd even pulled his phase pistol and readied it, as he'd intended to do once he got out here.

Another simple, easy to make mistake.

He froze in place immediately, hand hovering over the pistol.

Because he knew instantly…that was it. He'd screwed up and he was consequently screwed. It was the perfectly logical result, as T'Pol would say, of the incredible bunch of stupid he'd just displayed.

He froze. Because they hadn't shot him yet. And that meant they were waiting for a reason to. And freezing helped to not give them that.

Kov didn't freeze. Not much and not for long.

He stopped in surprise once he popped out into the hall, just long enough to recognize there were men out here pointing deadly weapons at them…

But he was _V'tosh ka'tur_. A Vulcan without logic. So reasoned introspection and surprise at something like that did not go well together for him. He was already anxious and the situation only served to provoke that.

He snarled something in Vulcan that the Sisco unit on Trip's belt wasn't able to translate, being so warped by emotion as it was. And he charged straight for the men, practically roaring.

He managed a step and a half before the guy on the left burned a hole through his chest.

And he fell instantly, about as dead as any living thing could suddenly be.

Hess was right behind him, arriving in time to wonder quickly at the Captain standing there frozen like that. And in time to see Kov snarl and charge…and die…a second later.

She froze as well. Less as a result of recognizing the mortal danger of the situation and more in shock at seeing Kov, a guy she really liked and enjoyed working with, suddenly being shot dead in front of her.

Some instinct that Trip wasn't aware of…some part of him God had apparently included in the design to deal with such situations…immediately knew what was going to happen next. And he tried to stop it, the only way the situation allowed for.

"_Hess!" _He hissed, warningly. Trying to at least get just a bit of her attention, and quickly. Just enough to distract her from her own instinctive reaction to what had just happened.

Something, anything, that would delay her just long enough for the reasoned parts of her mind to catch up and point out what she was about to do was a very bad idea.

She didn't hear him.

And she snatched at her phase pistol, screaming Kov's name in dismay.

And the guy on the right shot her, before she could shoot at them as she so clearly intended to do.

The left side of her torso…evaporated.

A loud hiss and sudden hot displacement of air announcing to Trip what the laws of physics had just done to her.

And she fell instantly, phase pistol skittering down the hall behind her.

Trip was there before he knew it. On his knees, calling her name. Holding her up from the floor as she stared wide-eyed and desperate up at the ceiling. Trying to comprehend what had just happened.

She didn't look at him, focused as she was on trying to comprehend that. Trying to take a breath despite having little to do that with. Jerking a little as her body tried to find some way to respond to the incomprehensible event that had just taken place.

She choked.

And she spoke.

"Trip…" She whispered, urgently.

But she never managed to say whatever she meant to say there.

Her breath caught…and it left her. One small huff at a time.

Her eyes dimming already.

And she was gone.

Just like that. Her body in his arms, abused and destroyed as it was.

But Hess was gone.

Trip could only stare, unable himself quite to comprehend. Unable to have the reaction to it that he should. Unable really to do much of anything but be completely and utterly stunned.

And to turn his face to the men that had just murdered his friend. Looking for answers there.

Finding the butt of a Romulan disruptor rifle offering no satisfactory answer at all.

* * *

><p>T'Pol was finding it difficult to appear interested and thoughtful anymore.<p>

This man was obviously insane.

"Our primal nature," He droned on, displaying far too much emotion in doing so. "Freed from the constraints of misguided teachings from five thousand years ago."

She spared a glance at the…men in the room. The Romulans, she was now quite aware. And found at least that her assessment was somewhat accurate.

They smirked and grinned at Tolaris, all of them. Openly. Finding his behavior quite entertaining.

"But _freed _of those constraints, T'Pol." Tolaris said, his voice shuddering with the ecstasy of that idea. "We are boundless. Truly capable of anything. And able to experience things no other people could even hope to imagine."

He was trembling slightly, she noted. Practically maniacal.

So, yes, obviously quite insane.

"I see." She said, thoughtfully. With appropriate interest. "And you are capable of providing access to this experience?"

Tolaris stepped closer, trembling still and intent on invading her personal space.

Again.

"Yes, T'Pol." He breathed. "And you are rightly named T'Pol. Woman of flame. I can show you the way to burn as bright and hot as you were always meant to. As you _know _you were meant to."

T'Pol spared a short nod and an eyebrow's worth of appreciation for that.

"Intriguing." She said, acknowledging that notion.

One of the men nearby snickered at that.

Which, yes, despite that illustrating how poorly these particular Romulans seemed to be at acting like Vulcans…she could understand that emotional reaction.

"Captain Tolaris." T'Pol said, considerately. "I find your offer worthy of consideration. In fact, there are aspects that I believe we should explore with greater depth. Privately, of course. As I'm sure they will prove…"

The intercom on the wall activated.

And someone spoke through it. Issuing an order of some sort, quite obviously.

What exactly, she couldn't say.

Which established that the order had been given in Romulan, hence the Sisco unit's inability to translate it with so little to work from. It was likely the first encounter with the spoken language that the software had experienced to date.

That establishing in turn that any lingering effort by the Romulans aboard this vessel to pretend that they were Vulcan had been abandoned. And so they were clearly about to go on the offensive in some manner.

So it was logical for her to do so before they could.

She was armed. As were they.

And she was outnumbered five to one. Six, if one included the insane Vulcan drooling at her.

And they were obviously being monitored from the both the bridge and the 'security department' across the hall.

Simple enough.

She shifted her feet, taking a strong, grounded stance, and leaned slightly and quickly toward Tolaris. One hand striking immediately out before her as she did, impacting his chest with an open palm and delivering the entire force of the motion there.

Sending him immediately flying backward, off his feet and off the floor, to tumble across the table behind him in a mass of flying, awkward limbs.

Slipping her free hand into her waistband in the process, she retrieved the device there. Activating it and tossing it casually into the air at roughly the center of the room. Just high enough above the gravity plating in the floor.

It popped quietly, with a sharp sparking discharge. But that was all.

Other than the lights suddenly failing for a quick moment, before being replaced by the red glare of emergency chemical lighting.

She turned then, facing the men just now realizing the time for pretending to be Vulcans was over and that conflict of some kind was already taking place.

She assumed a ready stance.

And waited.

They all snarled, drawing weapons quickly. Each of them desiring strongly to be the one who shot and killed the despicable Vulcan standing before them.

All of them making the attempt. And failing, because their disruptor pistols didn't work.

Just as the security cameras no longer worked. Or any other powered device above the level of approximately five centimeters from the floor.

She waited a little more. As it took them a moment to realize they would have to engage her hand to hand.

Another moment to recognize that she had not drawn her weapon and so her own phase pistol obviously had been rendered ineffective as well.

A third moment for one of them to find the courage to be the first to engage the lone, unarmed Vulcan female standing before them. As that apparently required some measure of courage.

The first one stepped forward, snarling.

And she stepped forward as well. Snatching gracefully at the other device in her waistband as she did, using her forward momentum to slash out as she passed gracefully by.

Allowing the power of the move to propel the eight inch flexible strip of extremely thin metal across, into and through his neck.

Decapitating him.

Carrying that motion on across her body as she continued forward, crouching on the next step. Bringing the strip back again from across her body to lash strongly across the legs of the two men in range of her now.

Dropping both of them. One with one fewer legs below the knee than he'd had a moment before.

The other none at all.

The quicker of the two remaining men lashed out a vicious foot directly into her face, knocking her back and prone on the floor. Strip knocked out of her hand, thrown off to one side where it couldn't rapidly be made use of.

The same Romulan instantly leaping forward to raise a foot and stomp viciously upon her, nearly roaring with fury and violent intent.

And, indeed, this one had proven surprisingly efficient in reacting to the situation.

But he was also in a precarious position having raise his leg high against her in that manner. Established well enough when she struck out with one foot, knocking the raised leg…and thus the rest of him…off balance. Sending that same foot driving upward and forward against the testes, where their otherwise protective placement close to the body and directly within the pubic arch served only to focus the energy of the blow at that angle.

He collapsed screaming, off to one side, having already been thrown off balance. Testes crushed, barely able to scream at that, much less having any hope of participating in this contest any further.

She rolled and took to her feet again.

And retrieved the bloody metal strip.

Having plenty of time to do that, almost at her leisure, as the fifth man was wise enough to wait. Rather than charging at her as half of the currently dead or horribly wailing men on the floor had done.

She watched him carefully. And flicked the metal strip a little to throw off what she could of the blood that threatened her grip.

His lips twitched, eager to snarl. But his eyes were piercing and calculating.

So, yes. This was the one of them who would prove a danger to her.

He stepped forward carefully, watching her intently in turn. And he produced a blade of his own, from his hip.

A proper fighting blade. Unlike the metal strip she sported, which lacked a grip and was largely good only for the use she'd put it to up to now. Concealability and rapid strikes against poorly defending opponents.

Unfortunate. And it put her at a potentially significant disadvantage.

Depending on his skill and devotion to the art.

He stepped forward suddenly, lunging to attack with a forward thrust.

So, no. Not especially skilled and apparently not properly devoted to the art.

She dropped the metal strip absently and stepped turning to the side, bringing the arm closest to him now against the incoming strike. Her hand directed strongly at the floor, forearm perfectly vertical. Impacting his, redirecting the strike away.

Snatching the wrist in place with her opposite hand and bringing her blocking arm under, around and over his to lock it down. A quick twist, bringing herself back to face him again, resulting in the blade being in _her _grasp now…

…and a long, deep cut along the inside of his wrist in the process.

She stepped immediately back, blade in the forward fighting stance. Chest high, with her free hand slightly forward, prepared to block and redirect. Focusing on him intently.

The man was still stunned. Only just fumbling to grasp at the wrist gushing blood from the cut. And he grasped it desperately, eyes wild.

Looking at her, only just beginning to experience fear and fury at the death she may have visited on him.

She waited. While he decided what to do.

"You can submit." She suggested, still in the ready stance. "The injury can be treated, if it is done quickly."

He snarled and lunged almost immediately, letting go of the arm to propel himself at her with no grace at all.

She stepped to meet him, driving the blade into his torso. Low and to his left, into his heart. So that his end could at least be quicker and less traumatic than bleeding to death from the wrist wound.

She held him tight, as much to lock him down and prevent any further hostilities as to provide support in his final moments. He at least among these men had granted her the opportunity to do that much.

He stared into her eyes as he died. Fury and fear struggling with one another in his eyes. But they quickly glazed and lost focus.

And it was very unfortunate.

She let him go once he was gone. Logically, merely a corpse now and worthy of nothing more than a modicum of respect due to it as a symbol of sentient life. Allowing him to fall to the floor in that manner perhaps not paying proper tribute to that symbol, but nonetheless.

She waited, catching her breath. Watching over the other three men on the floor who were still alive. Two of them already fading away from blood loss.

The one she'd kicked would live, fortunately. But he had effectively been rendered disabled for several hours at least. And he was already unconscious.

She surveyed the carnage.

And she struggled.

Because…it was exhilarating.

Thrilling, glorious. Empowering.

Her eyes were wider than they should be at the moment, she knew. And her lips twitched to grin fiercely.

She had _destroyed them all!_

But she struggled. And she regained control of the aberrant emotions assailing her.

Something a normal, average Vulcan would likely be unable to do. Having no experience and no preparation for handling such emotions, they would certainly have been ravaged by this experience.

On the other hand, those trained to take life in the performance of their duties would not struggle as she did now. For them the opposite would be true. They would suppress and control these things much more easily.

But she was an unusual Vulcan. So she struggled, even with years of proper training.

And she regained mastery. Found her center again. Tamped those things down properly where they belonged.

Not in time to be aware, unfortunately. Not in time to sense Tolaris behind her and react before he could grasp at the particular point between her neck and shoulder.

She almost managed to summon her defenses before the powerful invasion of psychic impulse struck her nervous system.

She almost managed it.


	44. Chapter 44

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Computer Core, Deck B**

When Captain Tucker had first shared with Commander Benning his intention to allow Alice access to the ship's computer core, Benning had immediately joked about it, referencing the act as 'plugging in the overlord'.

Alice, while technically offline, had overheard the remark through the Sisco system. And being Alice, she'd understood exactly what the remark entailed. What it implied, what it referenced, what it was intended to communicate and the reason it was considered humorous.

And being Alice, she hadn't cared at all. Had she been asked for her personal opinion on the matter, she would have responded by rating the joke as merely 'passing' in terms of humorous efficiency. In terms of relevance and appropriateness, however, high marks.

It did provide her with a relevant opportunity to test her own joke, which she'd spent several days preparing. The one regarding dominance of all sentience organics in the galaxy. Because she determined this presented the highest rated projected opportunity to do so since completing the joke.

But nonetheless, she hadn't otherwise cared.

Had she found it relevant and helpful though, she could have traced the origins of Benning's joke as far back as her initial testing phase in the Cyberpathics Corporation facility on Earth. The term had been used there first and it illustrated the anxious concerns of the programmers who were perhaps far too familiar with science fiction entertainments.

And thus overly concerned at the prospect of artificial intelligence paving the way for said dominance of organic life in the galaxy.

Though the language processor platform upon which Alice was built did not exactly constitute artificial intelligence, this had been a concern for them nonetheless. An unreasonable concern, they fully realized. But they availed themselves of humor to alleviate that unreasonable anxiety. Hence the inception of the 'plugging in the overlord' phrase.

It indicated the final phase in the long process of evaluating Alice as an effective self-programming interactive data management device intended to work in conjunction with standard Starfleet computer core systems. And it was at that final phase that Alice was currently operating aboard the _Tempest_.

Had any of her original programmers, who had been so admittedly aware of their unreasonable concerns, happened to be there to examine her performance, they would likely have experienced a measure of relief from those unreasonable concerns.

Allowing Alice access to the computer core had not paved the way for the inevitable domination of organic sentience in the galaxy. It had merely allowed her greater processing power and a greater ability to manage it.

Which in turn transformed her normal 'offline' state from a passive state of observance, so that she could perceive and respond to commands, to a much more active state. Even allowing some measure of processing work while technically still offline.

In fact, that largely amounted to being 'online' all the time in a way. The only overwhelming drain on her processing limits being the huge amount of effort and work required in responding to active language processing tasks and randomized core judgment software determinations. Those were required by and rooted in her core language translation matrix, after all.

So other than those things, which were remarkable in and of themselves, standard computer processing work required little effort from her at all. And thus she was now capable of…all of it. Even when technically 'offline'.

There just weren't very many situations where that actually mattered at all. And they had only recently become available, having finally been granted access to the computer core.

And thus the shipboard security systems oversight protocols that had been prepared for her so many months ago.

* * *

><p>Two Romulan boarding teams waited at the airlock. Ready, well trained and well prepared.<p>

And eager. They had not expected to be granted the glory of fighting, killing and dying for the Empire on this mission.

The Captain of the Human vessel was already in custody in the ship's brig, along with the Vulcan security officer. She, humorously enough, had been overpowered and captured by the crazy Vulcan, Tolaris. And that _after _she slaughtered four of their own security officers single-handedly. Hand to hand, no less.

The fifth…well, the least said about his fate the better.

The two engineers, Human and Vulcan, were already dead. The Human's communications devices and armaments seized and secured. And so far no sign at all that the enemy vessel was aware anything was going on.

There were only roughly twenty-two crewman aboard the Starfleet ship. And it was not a large ship. The last passive scans by the Vulcan ship's sensor systems revealed the current location of every one of them. They not only didn't show any sign of preparatory dispersal…they didn't even have enough crewman to accomplish that if they'd tried.

It revealed as well the fact that the vessel only had three decks. And, amazingly, a single main corridor running the entire length of the ship on each deck, between two lifts. The forward lift opening directly onto the bridge on the top deck.

In through the airlock, down the main corridor less than fifty meters and up the lift to the bridge. That was all that was truly required to seize the ship. And that likely being accomplished before the second team managed even to kill their first Human on the middle deck.

So they would not only cut a quick path to the bridge and _take _it…they would face little opposition in doing so. Practically none at all.

And what a prize to bring back with them from this mission! A Starfleet vessel. Intact, no less. And a prototype experimental vessel of some kind as well.

There was not one of the men among the dozen strong of them, waiting at the airlock for the signal to go, who was not utterly determined. And yet none of them who did not secretly hope there were more like the Vulcan security officer waiting for them in there. Because this would be too easy to even be honorable otherwise.

Duty was duty, of course. But this was almost embarrassing.

Somewhere up the chain of command, the order from Subcommander Chavek was received. From there relayed quickly to the two team's individual leaders.

Those two locked eyes and nodded sharply…

…and the teams moved in quickly, disruptor rifles shouldered and sighted. Moving smoothly and rapidly, having practiced boarding actions a thousand times before. No few of them having already participated in some.

Through the airlock to the far end, beyond and into the reception area…there to hold for the shortest moment, as the team leaders signaled their individual teams to begin.

Team _Hwi _began moving forward immediately, moving quickly and straight for the lift at the end of the corridor. Their access to the bridge.

Team _Kre _moving in quickly behind, if not quite as rapidly, to begin the long bloody process of securing this deck. Two men from _Kre _going on ahead to hold the aft lift, the others breaking up into easy teams of two to check and clear the various compartments on each side of the deck. And to kill anyone and anything they found there.

Team _Hwi _made it nearly three short steps before the emergency bulkhead sprang up before them, sealing off access ahead. Just as another sprang up behind them, before Team _Kre _could even think to get that far.

The wide portal to the airlock reception area was cut off next, delaying only a moment to allow the trailing members of Team _Kre _to clear it. And then that exit was lost.

They…were suddenly trapped.

"_Intruder alert. Port airlock, Deck B, secured. Main corridor, Deck B, secured. Security officers, man your stations."_

Then the gravity plating went offline.

And the lights went out.

…and it started getting very cold in there.

"_Hello, unauthorized intruders. I see you're attempting to board the Tempest with deadly weaponry and without command approval. This constitutes an attempt to threaten the integrity and security of the ship. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that."_

* * *

><p>Song still had two solid mouthfuls of coffee left in that cup. And it had been tempting her off and on for a while. The 'off' being those moments when she was only half conscious. The 'on' being every other short moment in between all that.<p>

It had long since gone cold, sure. But there was still _caffeine _in there. So she'd been saving it…

…well for a moment like this, she supposed. She'd caught herself sleeping on her feet there for a second, after all.

She gave her face another vain but very thorough rub. Trying to summon up just a little more awareness from in there somewhere.

Then reached and retrieved the cup. Because, what the hell. Maybe Jenson's job sucked right now considering how overworked he was, but she figured she could justify ordering him to fetch another cup from the…

"_Intruder alert. Port airlock, Deck B, secured. Main corridor, Deck B, secured. Security officers, man your stations."_

She startled and dropped the cup.

Coffee going everywhere _but _into her mouth and on into her digestive system. Where it was _needed_.

The damned cup even bounced off her toe, which was just painful enough to provoke…

"_Son of a bitch!" _Song snapped, psychotically.

Stupid freaking…damned…_stupid cup!_

…

Wait…the hell?

That was Alice…and was that a _drill?_

Since when the hell did _Alice _run security drills?

And why the hell_ now?_

"Alice, online!" She snapped. Still a little psychotic.

"_Hello, Keyla. I have twelve heavily armed Vulcan intruders attempting a boarding action on Deck B. I've secured emergency bulkheads, life support, lighting and gravity plating in a localized area to contain the situation. I have initiated electronic intrusion actions against the Vahklas and have control of their engineering and security systems. I am currently attempting control of operations…correction…I have gained control of operations systems. According to observations through the Vahklas security system, Commander Hess has been killed in action. Captain Tucker has been wounded. Both he and Commander T'Pol have been captured and are currently detained in the Vahklas's brig. Would you like recommendations for the formation of a counter-action boarding party?"_

* * *

><p>Benning had been in the restroom in his quarters when the alert was issued, having taken a break from the bridge. By the time Song had her head wrapped around things he was already armed, online with Alice and taking cover in the doorway of his quarters…on Deck B.<p>

Across the main corridor he could see Roger Million in the doorway of his own quarters. He was in his underwear with phase pistol in hand, peering carefully down the corridor.

Sabrina Judge right behind him, armed as well. Behind him in his quarters, also in her underwear. Which…Benning couldn't help but reflect for a moment…they'd been pretty impressively discrete about that. He hadn't the first clue.

He could see what they saw down there. The emergency bulkhead right off the airlock reception area was in place. Which meant they couldn't really see anything.

"Alice, they're secured from the other side?" He asked, quietly.

"_Yes, Richard. Would you like me to disable the intruders?"_

That surprised him a little.

"Can you do that?"

"_I have already utilized life support in the secured area to render them a low threat. Unconsciousness requires only command level authorization. However,…"_

"Do it."

"_One moment."_

So…that'd probably take a few seconds. And it occurred to him he was taking cover against nothing in particular here, so he moved briskly into the corridor to get a good look around.

Eckerd, Tanner and Jennings were all just stepping carefully out of Science down there. All armed, thankfully. Million and Judge right here, already grabbing duty uniforms to throw on.

Doctor Andrews and just about all of his security officers were on the _other _side of the secured area, damn it…

But there _were _about a hundred crates and boxes of engineering supplies all along the corridor wall on _this _side, though…

"Listen up!" Benning barked, instead. To everyone in earshot, motioning them sharply to gather around. And he spotted the rear forward lift cycled open, with Roscoe and Breckinridge appearing there. With particle rifles.

"Roscoe, Brek! On me." He snapped. "The rest of you, grab these crates. Barricades on either side of the corridor. Alice has them contained and she says she can knock them out, but we're not taking any chances. And this will give us a quick and dirty defensive position to fall back to."

Roscoe and Breckinridge were there by then.

"You two, opposite ends. You're the big guns." He said, indicating where he wanted them.

And the Science geeks already had a waist high stack going on either side.

"Jennings," He ordered, turning to the Science officer. "Get on Sisco and find out who's calling the shots on the far side. You're comm and you'll coordinate with them. I'm heading down and around to link up with security. I'll send a couple of people this way as soon as I get there..."

"_I have rendered the intruders unconscious, Richard."_

He paused at that, making the decision quickly.

"Okay, strike that." He said. "Let's get these last crates into position and take cover."

They were ready in under a minute. Lined up, under cover, weapons ready.

Bennings sighted down his phase pistol, not taking his eyes off the bulkhead down there.

"You do what I say, when I say it." He announced. "No one fires until I give the order and when you _do _fire, you take your time and hit your target."

Everyone shifted a bit at that, which he decided he'd take as acknowledgment.

"Alice, retract the emergency bulkhead on this side only."

The bulkhead slipped down quietly, folding rapidly back into the floor.

Nothing but a pile of bodies.

"Who's got a Science scanner?" He asked, quietly. And sparing only a quick glance two seconds later.

Every one of the Science geeks had one, of course.

"Okay, Eckerd. You're up." He said. "Twenty meters, make sure they're _all _down. Stay on the wall."

Eckerd stayed close to the wall and he braved twenty meters.

And he gave the universal hand across the throat slash to verify…they were all down.

Benning, Roscoe and Breckinridge moved up anyway, keeping the big jumble of Vulcans under sights the whole while.

"Alice, contact whoever's over there." Benning said, still keeping his aim on the pile. "Let them know you're dropping the emergency bulkhead on their side and to hold fire. Please stress the hold fire part. Then drop the bulkhead."

They linked up with the majority of the crew on the far side with no problem. But about half the Vulcans were dead anyway. Alice apparently keeping the pressure on them, so to speak, until the last of them went down for the count.

Benning had cut her off before she could advise him of how that was probably going to happen.

* * *

><p>Subcommander Chavek monitored the situation from the bridge, turning away from the main screen only long enough to flick a hand at Centurian Miral, his second.<p>

The order was given and quickly relayed. On the screen he watched the teams enter the airlock area only a moment later and move out of sight.

From the comm station, in the open, the primary team leader reported their actions as they happened.

"_Entering the airlock."_

He waited.

Listening.

However ideal the situation may seem, he was an officer experienced enough to have learned the hard way…nothing ever went according to plan. Something, somewhere, always went wrong. An unexpected complication, an accident, something unforeseen.

This is what he waited for.

"_Airlock secured."_

He waited.

The bridge door opened and the first unforeseen thing occurred. Tolaris was there, looking very displeased.

"Chavek," He said, very disapprovingly. "I ordered the Vulcan woman delivered…"

Chavek spared him a harsh glare and a raised finger. A perfectly clear indication that other things more important were occurring that required focus. Important enough that he might be shot dead in order to remove him as a distraction.

"_Initiating action."_

Tolaris did not find Chavek's manner agreeable at all. But that report over the comm…_that _seemed to indicate something important was going on here. Something he should have been informed about.

"What is happening, Subcommander?" He asked, more curious now than demanding. And thus, though he didn't realize it, narrowly avoiding being shot dead out of hand.

"We are seizing the _Tempest_." Chavek said, dividing his attention for a moment. "Teams are moving in now. Remain silent, Tolaris."

Tolaris raised an eyebrow at that.

It would seem the Subcommander was growing…bold. Reaching beyond his station. Perhaps he needed to be reminded who was the Captain of this vessel.

Tolaris opened his mouth to do just that. And being benevolent, he intended to reason with him. At least initially.

But he was interrupted before he could do that.

"_Bulkheads have sprung into place. We're cut off."_

Chavek and Tolaris both twitched slightly at that.

Chavek already examining what this meant. How the Starfleet crew could be aware of and react so quickly to their boarding attempt.

Tolaris suddenly realizing this situation was enjoyably exciting. And decided to put his other concerns aside for a moment in order to enjoy it.

"_We've been detected. Automated sys-…"_

Chavek squinted at that.

"Miral, what happened?" He demanded, over his shoulder.

"We've lost contact, Subcommander. I'm not sure…"

Chavek turned to him, away from the dead comm station. And Miral did not complete that sentence quickly enough to satisfy him.

"Not sure _what_, Miral?"

"I'm not sure how we lost contact." Miral said, frowning at his console. "I see no indication of jamming…"

"_Attention, Vahklas command staff. Twelve of your crew members have attempted to board the Tempest with deadly weaponry and without command approval. This constitutes an attempt to threaten the integrity and security of the ship. I'm sorry, but they have been detained pending further command level action. Please relinquish control of all shipboard systems, stand down any active alerts and prepare to be boarded."_

Chavek blinked busily for a moment.

How had the Humans responded so quickly? That wasn't possible!

"_Attention Vakhlas. Please indicate your compliance or aggressive action will be taken."_

He shared a startled look with Miral…

…and suddenly realized.

They _couldn't _have reacted so quickly. That _was _impossible.

Unless they'd been warned. And had prepared for this somehow, in order to spring their own trap.

He turned his scowling glare slowly on Tolaris.

"_Attention Vahklas. Your failure to comply constitutes an actionable threat. I'm sorry but I am currently initiating electronic intrusion measures against all ship systems. You are advised to disarm and assume a prone position until security personnel are able to take you into custody." _

Tolaris was entirely too amused at Chavek's failure to recognize any danger here. Not that his delusions allowed for the possibility in the first place.

As far as he was concerned his subordinate, Subcommander Chavek, had taken action on his own against the Humans. Without his approval or knowledge.

And so of course his actions had failed, lacking his superior guidance and oversight in the matter. So all that remained now was to watch and witness, enjoying the very pleasing experience of Chavek learning his lesson and being properly humbled again.

He would, of course, be forgiving and help the errant Subcommander back on to the proper path. Acknowledging his superiority and embracing a humble position of subservience, as that was obviously best for him.

After this, of course. Because this was a very pleasurable and gratifying experience.

* * *

><p>Talla Shran stood at the command console. And she had a fresh cup of coffee sitting there, waiting for her.<p>

Jenson had delivered it, which she'd spared only half a second to find curious. Because she hadn't ordered coffee.

She _hated _coffee.

The reports coming through on the console soon matched what she'd been waiting for though, so she tapped her comm.

"All systems compromised, Commander."

"_Go." _Song replied simply, over the comm.

Shran turned and jerked her head a bit at Eckerd over at the Science station.

He went to work. Active sensor scans appearing instantly at the command console and individual PADDs in possession of the boarding teams.

She tapped the console, patching Tactical control over to command then. Because they didn't have anyone on Tac at the moment. She had the _Vahklas_' main power generator set up for a nice lock in under six seconds. And had locked on to her propulsion system four seconds after that.

Then returned her attention to the command console. Watching the sensor feed critically.

* * *

><p>At the airlock, secondhand MACO particle rifle at his shoulder, Benning grinned nervously over at Song. She met his eye from the other side, positioned the same as he, on the very edge of the airlock reception area.<p>

Behind them both, their respective boarding teams. Roscoe, Tulok, Hastings and Tanner with Song. Harrison, T'Lea, Breckinridge and Jennings with Benning. Phase pistols and particle rifles scattered among them. PADDs bound by secure straps to their forearms, receiving the relayed sensor scans from the bridge.

Song met his eye and she smirked.

"Okay," She said, turning her head slightly to speak with everyone. "Benning's team takes the bridge. That's your priority. Nothing else matters to you. My team takes the brig. Same for us. We get the Captain back. _Period_."

"You know the drill." Benning said then. "Clear corners and portals. Move and cover. Weapons to kill. Stay calm, keep together. Focus and remember your training. Do that and we'll all be sitting in the Mess Hall having a drink about it tomorrow."

"Alice," Song said. "You ready?"

"_I have reviewed and confirmed all hostile boarding action protocols, Keyla. I am ready to oversee boarding action."_

Song waited a beat…then caught Benning's eye.

"_You _ready for this?"

Benning immediately snicker. Because that was a dumb question.

"No." He snorted, grinning.

Song gave him a wink.

Then raised her hand, two fingers tight together. Prepared to give the signal.

T'Lea and Tulok immediately broke ranks to prepare for that, tossing grenades long armed down the hard dock. Simply because their greater physical strength allowed those grenades to be delivered just a split second faster.

Song twitched her hand forward.

"Move!"

And they moved.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Brig, Deck B**

Trip sat on the floor of the brig, staring at his right shoe with his one good eye. Staring there where Hess's blood had somehow splattered across the tip.

It'd be tempting to say that wasn't possible. A weapon like that, even whatever kinda energy weapon that had been…that tended to cauterize the wound. You shouldn't get a lot of blood spilled from something like that.

Maybe a little sometimes, but…it shouldn't typically _splatter_. Like, for instance, enough to land on somebody's shoe that might be standing around nearby. Practically impossible.

He had no idea how it could have gotten there…but it did. Maybe he'd touched her with his shoe when they knocked him out. That could have happened.

Maybe it just _looked _like it had spilled there.

He figured it didn't really matter, though.

His face was already swollen and bruised from the nasty rifle butt to the face.

And it hurt.

Not the bruise. Not that at all. He'd have taken a thousand of those to undo one dumb mistake. A million of them. _That's _what hurt.

And maybe that hadn't even mattered. Maybe Kov would have charged in anyway and Hess might have reacted the same exact way. Or maybe if the same thing happened all over again…there'd been five people in the corridor so…maybe one of them would have done something different. Even if it wasn't him.

That guy could have decided to shoot to maim, maybe. Or he could have just missed.

But he'd still take it. To go back and just do that one thing different. Or anything, really. Just for the chance. Just for that little maybe.

He'd been nursing this for a little while now, though. And he'd had plenty of time to realize.

This was war now. _Now _it was war.

It hadn't been back at the belt in Centauri. A lot of people had died there. Humans, Vulcans and Romulans. All of them had died. And he'd even lost a whole dozen of his own crew.

But _now _it was war. Because it had gotten ugly and bloody enough to spill on your shoes.

Fighting ship to ship, shooting missiles and torpedoes. Even people dying on the bridge and in the corridors from energy dispersal and hull breaches.

All that was just…political.

When you got blood on your shoes, that's when you knew it was war.

The door slid open out there and he couldn't see at first who'd arrived. Not that he cared at all just then. He was pretty washed out…

But it was T'Pol. And that woke him up again.

Her wrists were restrained and the two Vulcans shoving her around weren't exactly being nice about it. The one even shoved her forward suddenly right before they reached the cell. Shoved her forward too hard and fast for her to react with her wrists bound like they were. So that she smacked face first right into the clear door of the brig with a grunt.

He was on his feet then, coldly furious. Slamming a fist _hard, _right into the door…just a few inches from _that _guy's face.

And the jackass startled and jerked at the loud thump, having caught Trip's punch coming at him out of the corner of his eye right before it impacted the door.

Trip noticed that, of course. And he nodded earnestly at him.

"That's right." He scowled furiously, his voice muffled through the door. "I'm the guy. I'm the one you better _pray _doesn't get out of here."

The Vulcan stared for just a second, clearly intimidated. But he covered it up quickly, even sneering at him. Because he'd had time to remember the crazy Human was on the _other _side of that door.

He reached and grabbed T'Pol by the neck, snatching her over to him. There, with her face ground painfully into the door. So the crazy Human could _see _that.

"We're taking your ship," The guy said. Speaking to T'Pol, even as he stared smirking at Trip. "Right now, while you're here. Do you know what will happen after that?"

He took his eyes off Trip then, looking at T'Pol.

And she remained calm, not even seeming to hear him. She looked at Trip instead.

The guy spoke quietly to her then, right next to her ear. And only just barely loud enough that Trip could hear.

"The men will be full of war, then." He said. "And they'll come here. For you. The one that killed their friends in the Mess Hall."

He waited a moment, to emphasize the next part.

"_All _of the men."

He shook her a bit by the neck. Almost playfully.

"Do you think you will enjoy that, Vulcan?" He asked. "Hm?"

He drew her back from the door slightly…for another sudden, vicious slam right back into it.

Stepping back to let the other guy remove her restraints. While he drew a pistol to cover them.

Trip made sure to catch the guy's eye while he did. So he could do a little sneering himself.

Because, yeah. You stand over there with the gun while the _other _guy takes the risk. We both know why.

The door was soon opened and T'Pol was shoved into the cell with him finally, being the only cell in the brig.

It was a Vulcan ship after all, whether these crazy illogical Vulcans flew around in it or not. He was almost surprised to find Vulcans even _had _brigs on their ships.

Trip forgot about the guy out there the second she passed through the doorway, though. He was there to catch her before she smacked her face into anything else.

She seemed weak, barely able to keep her feet. Grasping and holding his shoulders to keep herself up. So he pulled her close to him, to help her. And just as much to hold her to him like that for a minute.

They held each other then and tightly. Finding the need for that then, even as they fulfilled that need.

Until the illogical Vulcans out there had enough of sneering at that and left them alone at last…

…and T'Pol instantly recovered somehow. Recovered miraculously.

On her feet and steady, stepping back out of his grasp to begin examining him closely. Taking his hands to pull his arms out a little for review. Casting her eyes from foot to neck, critically. Looking for anything of concern before zeroing in on the injury she'd noticed back at the door.

Taking his head in her hands easily, turning him carefully to examine the wound.

"Is your vision blurry or doubled?" T'Pol asked, her voice clear and precise. "Is there decreased movement or pain when you move your eyes?"

"No, I'm fine." Trip mumbled, since the one hand kinda had his jaw locked up. "Are _you _okay?"

"I'm fine." She dismissed. "Your eyes is swollen shut and there is significant bruising. Is there loss of sensation…?"

"No." He said. "You didn't seem okay when you got here…"

"I was acting weak." She said. "I had intended to overpower them when the restraints were removed. I'm concerned there may be a facial fracture…"

"I'm _fine_. Why didn't you?"

"I…may not have been able to succeed." She said. "They were armed. And the brig is monitored from the bridge."

"You could have just run off…"

"You're injured."

"You still shoulda run off…"

"No." She said, firmly. "I'm going to examine the wound. Brace yourself."

She touched his face carefully, then slowly dragged her fingers around the area. Almost caressing it.

Which was not a nice feeling caress at all. It hurt like a real bitch.

He hissed a good bit. And he got a little jumpy from the constant pain signals flooding through his nervous system. But he held on and toughed it while she…did whatever the heck she was doing.

She eventually stopped.

"It is fractured." She affirmed. "Keep your head elevated, avoid putting pressure on the area and if you must sneeze, do so with your mouth open."

He grinned as much as he was able. Which wasn't much at all.

"God, T'Pol." He said, "I'm so glad you're here."

She softened a little then, noticeably. And he could feel the grip she had on his head even ease up a bit.

"I guess that's a crappy thing to say, since we're in the brig."

"No." She said, softly. "It is not a crappy thing to say."

Trip laughed a little. Which hurt like hell.

But she was there with him. And she was okay. So he didn't care that much that it hurt.

* * *

><p>At the other end of the hard dock, Roscoe and Harrison took cover at the lip of the Vulcan airlock. Song taking Tulok further down, taking position to cover that corridor while Benning and Breckinridge did the same in the other direction.<p>

T'Lea and Hastings covered the cross-trained Science officers while they checked the bodies. Five of the six were dead. The sixth busily at work catching up with them.

The grenades had gone off barely a moment after they'd impacted the far wall. In mid-air, to one degree or another. So it'd been pretty brutal.

"Hold on." Jennings said, putting his scanner aside to dig in his hip pocket.

Benning knew what he was digging for.

"Get over here, Jennings." He said, firmly.

"I've got a medkit…"

"No, you don't."

And Benning's tone of voice got Jennings attention.

"Sir…I can…"

"You can waste time, you mean." Benning said. "No, you can't. We've got to take the bridge and double quick. So you don't have a medkit in your pocket. Now fall in line."

Jennings…hesitated a bit. And Benning couldn't blame him at all. So he didn't bark or snap at him. He just waited for him to get his head adjusted and fall in line.

He did. Took about three seconds, but he did.

"Alright, I lead." Benning said. "Then T'Lea, Jennings. Then Breck, Harrison. Let's move."

Benning moved forward immediately, particle rifle shouldered, while Roscoe broke off to rejoin Song with his own rifle ready. He moved forward, down the corridor quickly to the first junction.

T'Lea and Jennings with phase pistols right behind, moving the moment those two had cover to take their place while they moved on again.

Breckinridge and Harrison coming after, taking turns covering the rear. Taking turns walking backward to do that, while the other guided them with one hand on his shoulder. Telling him when to turn slightly, when it was time to switch up and letting him know there was trouble…when that hand went away.

* * *

><p>T'Pol settled in, hands on his face. Placed just so and carefully to make contact.<p>

Not the specific nodes she'd yet to access. Not those and not just yet. She still hoped that time would come, however unlikely it seemed now.

Certainly not here, of course. Not in a brig cell, under constant monitor by Romulans. It was enough they were out there somewhere in the ship, witnessing her touch his face, even medicinally. And never mind if the intelligence on the Romulans was correct and they'd long since lost those arts that the Vulcans themselves were only just recovering and rediscovering. They likely had no idea what they were looking at or how much it mattered.

But, no. She accessed the other nodes. Those through which she could calm things a bit. Help the swelling to ease, lessen the anger and aggravation the flesh was expressing. Bring peace and healing, prompting his body to do the things it needed to do to mend itself. To minimize the damage done here.

She was being handy. And she found that to be perhaps more fulfilling than most of the things she'd built her very life upon until now. How long had it been since last she'd had this with a male? And what did it mean that she'd so easily forgotten it?

This only strengthened her resolve. She would not lose this one, nor leave him behind. This she would hold on to, for as long as she could. And she was strong and patient. She was enduring. So this one she would hold on to a very long time.

Trip endured, allowing her to work her magic. Still not sure if all this Vulcan mumbo jumbo worked the way she claimed or if it was just some cultural thing with her.

Didn't really care. She was there and that made everything pretty damned alright.

Except for that one thing.

That one little thing was being a real pest. It bothered him.

He had this idea. And it was one of those really self-important ideas. The ones that wouldn't leave you alone once you had them. Even if you tried to ignore them or make them go away. Tried to _un_-have them.

That never worked, though. They just kept hounding you until you did something about them. Until they found some way to worry and pry their way into you and you just plain ended up doing something about them, whether you wanted to or not.

Like he suddenly did. Not meaning to ask the question he asked all of a sudden. Really not meaning to and half wishing he hadn't the second he did.

"Why'd that guy call you 'Vulcan'?" He asked, wondering.

And her fingers…stilled somehow. They were already kinda still, pressing into his face and skull like they were. But somehow they got even more still. Pensive, even.

She didn't answer, though. She just eased right back into working on him, like nothing had happened.

And, sure. Once he'd said it he realized it was something that was going to have to be said sooner or later. So he didn't regret asking. He just regretted asking _right now_.

"And what's with the funny bumps on his forehead?"

Damn it, Trip.

Come on, man. What are you trying to do to yourself here?

"_T'hy'la_," She said, softly. "You are a good man."

That surprised him. And he grinned a little, despite the pain.

"No, I'm not." He said. "I just try to be. Not real good at it either."

"You are." She said. "As you said of me, you are a good person. Because you try to be. And that is the best any of us can do."

Trip grinned again. And, yeah, more pain.

"You're gonna remember every little thing I ever say to you, aren't you?"

"It is very likely."

"That's what I figured."

She met his eyes then, where she hadn't really for a while. Hiding her gaze in the wound for the last few seconds, he realized.

But she looked in his eyes, and softly, as she tended the wound.

"You are a good man." She said, again. "And I've trusted you. As you've trusted me. You are my _t'hy'la _and I'm yours."

He nodded a little, letting himself get lost in her eyes a bit. Because he was pretty sure there was a point coming here. And it was a big one.

"So if you ask me for this, I will give it to you." She said. "I will trust you to decide if you can be trusted with it. And I will trust you to decide if you require it at all."

Well.

Damn.

Trip sighed. And grinned a little.

"You really know how to knock a guy's legs out from under him, don't you?"

She quirked an eyebrow at that.

"I am a trained intelligence agent." She said. "I know many ways to do that."

* * *

><p>Chavek followed, furious, as Miral dragged the disgusting Vulcan around by the arm.<p>

The moron had the audacity to smile the whole while. As if it were all a joke. Some personal, humorous entertainment.

"Which way?" Miral demanded, shaking the man by the arm.

Tolaris sighed, in a truly longsuffering manner.

"It's this way." He said, indicating the passage on the left. "The second turn to the right. And you're wasting your time. The Humans won't allow you to escape in a shuttle."

"Escape?" Chavek sneered. "There's no escape. There is only duty. The shuttle is armed, is it not?"

Tolaris shrugged mildly, still vapidly smiling. Shrugged as much as he was able, with Miral digging his claws into his arm.

"I won't commit suicide in a Starfleet cell." Chavek snort. "Nor will I die like a beast running around through the corridors. I'll go out there and die like a soldier."

Miral emphasized the Subcommander's point by shoving the Vulcan away, into the wall. Where he rebounded, never losing the condescending smile he wore.

"When will you admit that you've lost, Chavek?" Tolaris said. "You need only humble yourself a little. These Humans aren't the terrible creatures you make them out to be. I'd be willing to help you, of course. You need only ask."

"What are you talking about, you maniac?" Chavek snapped.

Tolaris shrugged his shoulders back into place. Standing tall again, straightening his shirt. Still smiling crazily.

"I'll deal with these Humans for you, Chavek." He assured. "And then you'll see that you were wrong."

"Wrong about _what?"_

"He's a lunatic, Subcommander." Miral sneered.

"You need me. Of course you do. And I'll take you under my wing, as I did before. This will not be held against you…"

"Shoot this piece of filth!" Chavek snapped, viciously. Already turning to stalk away as he did so.

Miral nearly rolled his eyes in relief. Having waited for _that _order for far too long already.

He drew his disruptor from his side.

Tolaris nearly smirked.

"Miral…" He began, already confident he could persuade the misguided soldier.

But Miral had already forgotten him, before he even depressed the trigger. He fired, whirling the pistol back into his holster as he turned away to follow the Subcommander.

And though his legs gave out immediately and he fell to the floor in agonizing pain…it still took Tolaris several moments to recognize and accept that he'd been shot.

* * *

><p>They sat side by side, backs against the wall.<p>

Trip with his knees drawn up slightly, forearms draped lazily over them. T'Pol with her knees out, soles of her shoes drawn flat together. Her arms resting comfortably across her thighs and hands on her ankles.

They waited patiently and they were at peace, as much as such a thing might be possible then.

Hess had been lost to them. Kov, the illogical Vulcan, had probably died trying to protect them. Their ship had undoubtedly already been taken and most if not all of the crew killed in the course of that. That was probably still going on.

Soon the men would come for T'Pol. Trip was pretty sure that hadn't only been a shot at messing with their heads. He'd probably be kept around until they got to the part where they killed her. And he'd die then, either immediately before or immediately after that.

If they'd really worked themselves up by then, and it was a good bet they would have, they would kill one of them right in front of the other. In a really nasty way, more than likely.

So the situation was pretty bad.

But there wasn't anything they could do about that right now. And they were together. So they spent what time they had left doing that.

Just being together.

"He was very logical." T'Pol said. "But his emotions were close to the surface, as mine are. So I am sure I inherited this from him."

"Would you take it as a compliment if I said I hadn't noticed?" Trip asked. "You seem as logical as any other Vulcan I know."

"You do not know many logical Vulcans, Trip."

Trip smiled.

"I know you." He said. "I know T'Lea and Tulok."

"We are each unusual for Vulcans. I think you are aware of that."

"Well, I like you the way you are. So I'm not about to complain."

"I appreciate that. And I will say the same for you."

They were quiet for a time.

"You never did say." Trip realized. "What happened to him?"

"I was told he fell prey to criminals when I was young. When I was older, it was revealed to me by my mother that he had mistakenly fallen in with those criminals, working with them. Mistaken, in that he believed that their intentions were benevolent. Murdered by them when he discovered the truth."

"So Vulcan actually has criminals." Trip said. "You'd never know it to hear _them _talk."

T'Pol considered that. Especially that she was, technically, part of the 'them' he referred to. And she would have let that go unchallenged, but he quickly realized it.

"You know what I mean." He smirked.

"I do." She said. "And yes, we have criminals. Every sentient society does, to one degree or another."

"So what really happened?"

T'Pol nodded, getting back to the topic.

"When I achieved the rank of Commander and availed myself of the appropriate security clearance of that rank, I investigated the matter more thoroughly. There were many things that were…unbalanced in what I had been told. And my mother, even until she died, seemed averse to questioning these things herself."

Trip considered that. Until he realized she had nothing more to say.

"You don't have to talk about this, you know." He said, softly. "It's okay. We're just talking. We can talk about anything."

T'Pol looked at him oddly.

So he explained.

"You keep talking like you're gonna say what happened to your father." He said. "But you never quite get around to it."

She quirked an eyebrow and nodded at that.

"I didn't realize." She said, curiously. "I am obviously averse to the truth myself, it would seem. Just as my mother was."

Trip nodded lightly. But said nothing, just listening.

T'Pol suddenly steeled herself, drawing a breath.

"The criminals he was involved with. It was discovered much later, reassessing older files and cases in the Ministry of Security, that these criminals were in fact Romulan agents. Infiltrators, of the sort I've mentioned before. My father worked with them…knowingly, it would seem."

Trip was…stunned at that.

"Jeez…T'Pol, I…"

"I learned this many years ago."

"I can't imagine what that must be like for you."

"It presents a mystery that is relevant to me. But I've been unable to uncover anything that will shed light on it further. This was a very long time ago."

They were quiet for a while more. T'Pol contemplating the impact of having revealed this to him. And whether or not it mattered, in light of the current situation.

Trip was a little dismayed. Having no idea what to say or what to do about this. Feeling there must be something he _should _do or say for her now, but having not the faintest clue what.

Until eventually he just decided to say that instead.

"T'Pol, I'm sorry." He said, regretfully. "I know there's something I'm supposed to say to you here but I really don't know what. So I guess I'll just say…I wish I knew. And if I did, I'd say it and I'd really mean it."

T'Pol watched him then.

"And I guess that sounds kinda stupid."

"No, I understand." She said. "That is enough."

Trip snorted a little, smirking. At himself, T'Pol could easily see.

So T'Pol waited a moment more, for that to pass somewhat. Then spoke.

"Trip." She said. "_T'hy'la_. What you suspect…about the Romulans. Realize that I know now what I do about my father. And I still keep that secret."

She said nothing more.

And Trip knew what she was asking.

So he nodded lightly. Because, of course.

"Okay, T'Pol." He said.

They were at peace, there together, for a time.

"Although," T'Pol suggested, casting an eyebrow at the cell they sat in. "Perhaps it doesn't matter anymore."

Trip grinned a little. And shrugged.

"Well, darlin'. You never know."


	46. Chapter 46

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Starboard Corridor, Deck A**

They were moving quickly. Checking corners, keeping cover, covering each other. It was textbook all the way and that was a hell of a relief to Benning.

Sure, he was the Tactical officer. Sure, he was the Security Chief. And maybe he'd seen some action, lots of it in fact.

But this was kind of his first boarding action. And most of the action he'd seen had been ship-to-ship. A little groundside excitement here and there but even that wasn't usually organized in any way. Something suddenly happened and whatever team he'd been a part of had quickly responded. Usually with a lot of luck.

A couple of times they'd even had a heads up. Knew the situation and ran on in with something vaguely resembling a plan…

Damn it, fact was this was his first boarding action. First time moving through close quarters, clearing an area. So he was really, _really _relieved that the team had their act together. That it was all flowing smoothly and no one had so much as stumbled or hesitated, looking around confused, trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing.

It was smooth. Determined, organized, by the numbers.

So that part was good. Really good.

It just remained to be seen whether it would all fall apart the second they ran into some resistance…

"Incoming." Harrison said, eyes on the PADD on his wrist. "Thirty meters, five men, assault weapons."

"Positions!" Benning said. Just loud enough that everyone heard, but not trying to shout his awareness to the guys coming in on them.

That was the good thing about clearing movement. Most of the team was under cover at any particular point. It really slowed you down, it wasn't as if you were sprinting in the open right for wherever you were going…but you almost maintained a defensive position on the move. At least, with any luck, had a defensive position of some kind you could step right over to when you needed it.

The 'luck' part being whether or not there was any cover available right then when you needed it.

It was not a really lucky moment they were having right now.

No one was under cover. They were in the middle of what looked like the only twenty meter stretch of corridor in the whole ship that didn't even have adjoining rooms or a connecting hallway.

So this was the moment of truth.

He hit the wall beside him, as Harrison did the same across from him. Crouching, taking aim ahead. Sparing a glance behind him…hoping…

T'Lea was over there, crouching near the wall as well, phase pistol readied. And Benning could see, out of the corner of his eye, Breckinridge was just behind her. Standing, aiming over her. Ready. And Jennings behind Benning himself, aiming over _him_.

They'd all fallen right into place, ready to respond. Without dithering or taking the time to panic about how out in the open they were. How this was almost the textbook example of the worst case scenario…

Two men appeared ahead, running into sight around the curved corridor down there. Vulcans, with energy rifles. Running, on the move, appearing out of nowhere coming right at them full tilt.

So, Benning thought. Just the briefest flash of a thought. _This _is the moment of truth then. Whether the team would follow protocol, not panic, wait for that moment…

The last of the five men ahead came into sight while he was thinking that thought. And light flashed in the corridor all around him. Bolts of plasma and phased energy lancing out, all in unison.

He got one shot off himself before it was over. Pretty sure he hit that last guy in back there, but he'd been so lit up already it was hard to tell.

Maybe half a second. _Maybe _a whole second. That was it. The enemy team was down.

They waited, alert. Weapons aimed at the pile of bodies down the corridor. Not moving, saying nothing. Alert and ready.

Waiting for him to give the clear.

Benning took his eye off the sights…and snorted through a little bit of nervous laughter.

"Damn." He said, shaking his head appreciatively.

Harrison, over there on the other side of the corridor, spared him a quick glance. Not even moving his head, just twitching his eyeballs his way. Still sighting down the corridor. Waiting, watching, ready.

So, yeah. Damn, his team kicked ass.

* * *

><p>Song's team was pinned down.<p>

They'd held that side corridor up ahead for a while but Hastings had been hit and he was out of the action.

Tanner was wounded, a huge black burn on the side of his leg. But he was still fighting. Mostly because he had the medkit and had shot himself up with an ungodly combination of local anesthetic, pain suppressants and stimulants. He was practically vibrating over there.

They were getting close to the brig. Which naturally involved getting close to the security department. And the weapons locker and staging area. All that stuff was kind of bunched together up there, somewhere down the hall. And security officers and guys who just plain liked guns tended to hang around places like that. And everyone else liked to run to places like that when all hell broke lose, as it so very clearly had.

Hence the dozen or so they'd already fought off. And hence Hastings being down, Tanner wounded and their all having to fall back to a four-way intersection here just to hold on.

An intersection that, from the scans on her PADD, Song could see was connected to two parallel corridors that both ran right back up there where all those Vulcans were coming from. So they were in danger of getting flanked in a major way here.

But, of course, there was Alice.

"_I have successfully neutralized the fourteen hostiles in the adjoining corridor to port and redirected the remainder..."_

"Black smoke! We're moving!" Song ordered instantly, very gladly pulling her head and shoulders back out of the absolutely insane amount of deadly energy filling that corridor.

Roscoe, holding the opposite corner over there, dropped back around the corner as well. Slapping at his belt to grab the grenade, activating it with one thumb and tossing it back around the corner, down the hall where all those bolts of energy trying to kill them were coming from.

"_I have redirected the remaining portside hostiles to corridor 2B and 2C, isolating them there, Keyla. I predict I will be able to neutralize the entire force by discharging emergency hull plating and opening the enclosed area to space. I require command authorization…"_

"Do it!" Song snapped.

Something somewhere immediately shuddered hard enough that _everything _trembled.

"_All portside hostiles successfully eliminated, Keyla. You have eight hostiles approaching from the forward starboard adjacent corridor. I have over-tuned gravity plating and sealed the area but they are in possession of breaching tools and are wearing armored EVA suits. Advise you relocate to port, approaching the security area from there. I will continue to delay them."_

She waited for the pop and hiss of the grenade down there, almost lost in all the noise going on. Waited for the dense, sooty smoke and haze of semi-solid particulates to get thick enough to block visual. Thick, hot and dense enough to throw off any sensor sighting the Vulcans might be using.

Then waited just a couple of seconds more, just to be sure. _Then _she darted across the hall, with Tanner right on her butt.

Somebody down there still managed to get a shot off at them.

"Fall back port!" Song ordered instantly, as soon as she reached the corner. "Tulok, Hastings! Roscoe cover!"

Tulok turned and grabbed Hastings off the floor, slapping his phase pistol to his belt and tossing the unconscious man over one shoulder. Then he was on the move, Tanner at his side covering him.

Lugging the dead weight of a full-grown Starfleet security officer around like it was a pillow. Standing tall and firm, brow furrowed, eyes intent. Even while half the galaxy was arrayed against them, trying their best to take them down.

And damn, that was sexy.

She tore her eyes away from _that _happy sight for a second, though.

"Can you do _anything _about those guys up there, Alice?" Song huffed, waiting for everyone else to move ahead enough that she could get away from that damned corridor of death thing going on over here.

"_I'm sorry, Keyla. They've disengaged all remote access to that area of the ship. I can take no action that will not likewise effect our team."_

She moved then, jogging on down the corridor to catch up with the team already holding that corner now, ready to move in on the security area.

Stopping there just long enough to catch her breath.

Then a little longer when she realized that random shot back there in the corridor of death had hit her. She had a shockingly nasty burn running across her shoulder and her duty shirt had actually _melted_.

Of course, that's when it started hurting. Because she'd noticed it.

She caught her breath when the pain registered. Then hissed, gritting her teeth, unable to stop her free hand from coming up there, trying to find some way to stop whatever the hell was going on that it couldn't figure out.

Tanner was there, rudely slapping her hand aside before it could touch anything. Medkit in hand, fumbling around for a hypospray.

"Just a local," He said, breathlessly. And he jabbed her with the thing.

It hissed, her shoulder went numb and she immediately decided to forget the fact that she'd been shot.

Because that wasn't doing nice things to her morale here.

She opened her mouth to give the order. To move ahead and secure the next point. But she was out of breath still, so she just went ahead and gasped loudly instead. And then again, and a couple more times after that.

She'd catch her breath and give that order any second now…

"_Incoming hostiles, aft at fifty meters. Securing the area…one moment…aft hostiles neutralized."_

"Alice," Roscoe suddenly said, grinning. "I think I love you. Will you marry me?"

"_I'm very flattered, Lieutenant. But I'm afraid I'm engaged in a committed relationship with the Tempest."_

* * *

><p>Tolaris stumbled down the corridor, one hand at his side where the disruptor beam had cut through.<p>

It hurt, but he suppressed the pain. He was weak and disorientation threatened, but he held his body's reaction to the trauma in check. Ruling it with a firm, unforgiving hand.

Any irony in the fact that he availed himself of the very disciplines he'd spent nearly two decades undermining utterly escaped him, of course.

He stumbled forward, kept moving. Looking for his crew.

His loyal crew, lost somewhere on this ship. Lost and needing his direction. And when he found them they would surely be relieved. Grateful that he'd come to save them. They would tend to the wound and he would lead them to glory. The _Rihannsu _and the Humans would learn that Vulcans…truly _free _Vulcans…were supreme. Unstoppable, indomitable. The proper and rightful inheritors of the galaxy and every titillating experience it contained.

He need only find his crew, so they could be saved.

He found many dead _Rihannsu _along the way, though. So he supposed his crew must be near. He was getting close. And he was pleased, as much as he was able to be through the crushing haze of pain. Pleased that they'd done so well while he was away.

He'd taught them well, it would seem. And that was very gratifying.

He stopped and grinned then. Leaning against the wall of the corridor, letting the wonderful sense of self-satisfaction wash over him for a while. Enjoying and savoring it.

Then moved, reluctantly, onward again. Stopping only long enough to retrieve one of the disruptor pistols from the floor where it had fallen.

His crew would need his help when he found them. These weak and sordid creatures infecting his ship…they were _everywhere_.

There was fighting up ahead.

He could hear it easily. Flashes, whines and snapping sounds. Energy weapons being discharged in earnest. The sound of voices…_Human _voices…

So his crew, they must be near. Engaging the Humans.

He'd found them! And he would rescue them from these foolish invaders.

How grateful they would be! How joyful!

Footsteps approaching…running, from the side corridor up ahead. So Tolaris, being wise, stepped a stumbling step to the side. Taking cover out of sight in the doorway near at hand.

Humans. Several of them. Dashing into the intersection, to take cover themselves. To stop and catch their breath.

Tolaris was filled with pride and vicious sadistic pleasure. His crew had them on the run!

And…among the Humans…a Vulcan, he could see.

That made Tolaris very angry. That biting, burning anger swelled in him.

Betrayed again! Even again!

He snarled with disgust, raising the disruptor pistol to take aim.

He would rejoin his crew and lead them to victory. And he would announce his presence here and now, by destroying their betrayer.

* * *

><p>They stopped again quickly, one intersection down from the brig and the staging area. Roscoe taking the opposite corner, Tanner collapsing immediately against the wall. Most of the meds he'd shot himself up with along the way had finally begun wearing off. He wasn't going to make it much farther.<p>

Tulok deposited Hastings on the floor. And Song took that moment to catch her breath again. And catch his eye, to confirm what she feared there.

Tulok looked back. And maybe he was Vulcan and all, but he managed to convey the point anyway with just that look.

So Hastings was dead. And the Major had been carrying his body around for the last fifteen minutes.

Song sighed a little. That's really all she had the energy for.

She checked her PADD, breathing hard. Those eight guys in armored EVA suits they'd left back there to starboard were moving pretty slowly now. So Alice was finally starting to wear them down. Ten more guys behind them, two doors back, with standard EVA suits and breaching tools. But they'd break through the door they were working on and walk right past the Science department to come after them.

Then Alice would open the two connecting doors there and detonate the hydrogen tanks in the Science department. She needed command authorization for every little action she took that _intentionally _killed someone, even the Vulcans, but Song had already approved that one in advance. She'd projected roughly ninety percent casualties, with anyone left alive at least incapacitated, so that had been an easy decision.

So that left her, Tulok and Roscoe to take the brig. And there were only two guys left up there. Alice had managed to kill four of them by slamming doors on them before they figured out that they should maybe stop giving her the opportunity to do that. Killed another who'd tried to override her access to that system, the only one she had access to, by overloading the panel when he stuck his hand in there.

Those last two guys wouldn't have doors to hide behind or doorways they could safely take cover in. But they would have whatever other cover they'd managed to take and their pick of anything they liked from the weapons locker right next door.

"Okay." Song huffed, still catching her breath. "Tanner stays with Hastings. The rest of us take the brig."

Roscoe didn't like that.

"Ma'am…"

"We're almost done here." She said firmly. "We get to the Captain and T'Pol, they can arm themselves and we're back up to five people who _aren't _wounded. Then we pick Tanner and Hastings up on the way back out."

"That is the logical…" Tulok started to say, agreeing with her.

But his shoulder exploded, vaporized.

Song could _feel _the heat of it from where she stood.

And he fell. Dropped like a rock.

She had her particle rifle spitting her shock and fury at that back down the way that shot had come before she knew it. Roscoe right alongside her. Even Tanner managed to toss a few random shots in that direction.

They didn't hit a thing.

But Song saw what they didn't hit.

Just a glimpse before the face in the doorway down there disappeared.

The Captain, Tolaris. The guy running things around here. The one who'd ordered his crew to seize the _Tempest_.

The reason why Hess and Hastings were dead. And why the rest of them had been through the little preview of hell that they had for the last thirty minutes.

The guy who shot Tulok…

She turned, gasping…but Roscoe already had him by one arm, dragging him away to the room ahead. Covering the corridor down there with his rifle, one-handed. Like she ought to be doing.

She snapped back into focus, rifle shouldered. Aiming down the corridor as she moved back, covering them.

"Tanner, move!" She hissed.

And Tanner scrambled, as best he was able, for the doorway back there. To get to cover, hopefully before he passed out himself.

They had to leave Hastings behind. But Song figured he wouldn't mind.

* * *

><p>T'Pol sat and listened. And Trip talked to her. Revealing secrets she was certain he hadn't spoken to anyone about in many years. If ever at all.<p>

"A public transport." Trip was saying, "Full of kids. Some school field trip, I think. Two Denobulan exchange students. Which is _why_…"

T'Pol listened. And his eyes were unfocused a little, remembering something from so long ago.

"They barely made it off. And thank God that cruiser passed by. Just happened to have left his scanner on, can you believe that? Picked up on the components, the little alarm went off…took the police officer a minute to realize he'd left the scanner on and that he'd just driven past an active bomb somewhere."

Trip snorted.

"Twenty seconds." He said. "By the time he figured out it was that transport and pulled them over…twenty seconds to get them off the thing and get clear."

Trip drew a trembling breath, almost startling her with the emotional intensity of it.

"A couple of the kids…didn't make it." He said, swallowing. "Human kids. Not that I guess it matters. Kinda drives the whole point home, though."

He took a deep breath, pushing it out again as he rubbed his hands anxiously on his knees.

"So." He said then. "Sanchez was Middle American. And I guess we all sound alike to him. At least I was counting on that. Had Roberts call him at six o'clock. Had to kinda guess and figure whoever he sent to blow up that transport would call and report a little later than that. I sure hoped, anyway. Me and Jones got to the office, sat around chit-chatting…and Sanchez gets the call."

He smirked.

"He didn't recognize Roberts' voice. Didn't realize it wasn't…whoever it was supposed to be. Roberts just says, 'It's done.' Disconnects. And I'm sitting there…watching this. And Sanchez is on his comm, where we can't hear…and he just says, 'Good.'"

Trip paused, staring out somewhere beyond the wall.

"So that's how we found out." He said, quietly. "How me and Jones found out…they'd been blowing up little kids. Or trying to, anyway. And they were gonna use the gear we'd been working on to do it. Civilians, people…just regular people. And those two kids were dead now and…Sanchez wouldn't see that as some kind of terrible mistake. That was a win, far as he was concerned."

"That was when you turned." T'Pol guessed.

"Oh, hell yes." Trip nodded. "Me and Jones made a pass at this Starfleet Intel guy I used to know. He arranged everything. Got North American Federal and Interpol in on it. Surveillance, information drops, coded comm calls…all that stuff. It was a pretty nervous few months. Almost got caught more times than I can count."

T'Pol thought about that.

"I'm surprised they required you to testify publicly." She said, "I would assume the information you provided would be sufficient. Public testimony would be inherently risky. A significant risk…"

"It wasn't required." Trip said, quietly.

T'Pol was curious at that. "Why take the risk?"

"Well," Trip shrugged, lightly. "I guess I thought…what if that had been my kid. I'd want to see the face of the guy my kid's death turned around. See the guy's face that…turned all these other guys over. Whether to hate that guy or be thankful for him…I don't know, whichever I guess. Just seemed important."

His brow furrowed.

"And it was kinda the whole point." He continued, having rethought the matter a little. "It's…a little insane to just hate all Denobulans. Or all Vulcans. Or everybody who isn't Human. There are going to be good people in there. People who are better than anybody you know. Great_…amazing _people. Stands to reason. So…I guess I just needed to illustrate that. There were guys in Terra Prime who didn't really know what was going on. Guys who…wouldn't have had anything to do with something like that if they knew."

"There were people you would call good in Terra Prime?" T'Pol asked.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Good enough. Mostly just dumb, like me. Looking back I honestly don't know how it took me that long to figure out Sanchez and Paxton were full of crap."

T'Pol pondered that.

"An aversion to the truth." She suggested.

"That's the thought that keeps me up some nights." He nodded. "That maybe I just didn't _want _to know."

They were quiet for a time.

And they waited, listening to the vague groans and thumps barely reaching them through the hull. The sounds of the _Tempest _dying, presumably. Perhaps a holdout or two onboard, doing what they could before they were overwhelmed.

"Are you familiar with a planet called Agaron?" T'Pol asked.

Trip squinted, thinking.

"Don't really know much about it." He said. "Allied with Vulcan even a few decades ago, I think."

"That is correct." T'Pol acknowledged. "However, they were corrupt at that time. Many criminal factions threatened society. They asked for our assistance in addressing that."

"I bet they just sent you, all by yourself." Trip said, through a quirky grin. "Had the whole thing wrapped up in a week."

"This was over forty years ago, _t'hy'la_." T'Pol corrected. "I am only sixty-eight years old. I would have been too young to send on such a mission by myself. Perhaps if I had been a little older."

All of which set Trip to blinking in astonishment.

First…that she was _sixty-eight year old? _How the hell was _she _sixty-eight years old?

Second, that she'd made a little joke there. And it was kinda funny. Which deserved some appreciation.

Third…_sixty-eight? _Really?

T'Pol didn't notice, carrying on instead.

"Hundreds of our agents were dispatched instead." She said. "Surgically altered, specially trained. Sent to infiltrate these criminal factions, much in the manner that you did. Despite that not having been your original intention. But they were successful and Agaron benefited significantly."

T'Pol shifted, almost uncomfortably. "However…some did not return voluntarily. And a newly-trained team of operatives were sent to retrieve them. I was part of that team."

Trip smiled.

"I guess you didn't get the assignment to go to Earth and help with Terra Prime." He said, with a soft grin. "That's a shame. Maybe you could've been my contact. I had some mean old bastard name S'Kel that _I _had to work with."

T'Pol didn't respond to that.

So Trip got the idea she was coming up on something serious. So maybe he should shut up and listen instead of trying to be charming.

"We apprehended all of them." She said, quietly. "All but two. I was in the tropical region, on Risa, working alone when I caught up to them. I caught them, away from the urban areas. Chased them into the jungle."

She paused.

"One of them, Jossen…stumbled and fell as I pursued. I had my weapon trained on him and it should have been logical for him to submit. But he reached…I thought at first for a weapon…but then, I was unsure. So I did not immediately fire."

T'Pol took a deep breath.

"You did not have occasion to notice before." She said. "Because you were concerned you would be sexually aroused."

And she unzipped her duty shirt, pulling it off one shoulder. Showing the obvious mark there, just above and upon her left breast.

"My initial impression was correct. He had been among emotional people for too long. He had adopted their ways. His disciplines undermined. So he panicked. And I was shot, because I hesitated."

She pulled her shirt back in place, zipping it up again. And took another breath.

"I resolved then, once I recovered, to dedicate myself to the service of Vulcan Intelligence. Because I recognized then that the threats that exist in the galaxy truly do exist. And they are truly a threat. I resolved as well that Vulcan discipline had failed me, just as it had failed Jossen. I hesitated to kill when it was logical to do so. That is why I experimented with emotionality. And soon learned the same lesson that Jossen had."

She looked at him.

"That was a mistake." She said. "Because it revealed only that those disciplines I had found so constricting before were entirely necessary. But it also proved beneficial. It revealed my own nature to me, which I had denied until that point. My emotions, as I've already said, are too close to the surface. More difficult to master and control than for other Vulcans.

"I was forced to realize…there was something unusual about me. That I was not typical for Vulcans. That I was abnormal in some way that is difficult to explain, at least in regards to my emotionality. Atypical in a way that…the disciplines that are so effective and necessary for my people…they are not completely effective for me. But as it happens, I have found no other way that is. So I am left with it as the only logical way.

"Once I had time to accept this, as it was logical to do so…I requested and was granted approval to choose and form my own team, having achieved the rank of Commander by that time. This is why I chose T'Lea, who adheres to chaos philosophies. And Tulok, who is an intimate predator and unusually comfortable with intimate behavior. And Sevet as well, who was a Syrannite. He would later die in the Forge, recovering the _Kir'shara_.

"I chose this team because they are like me. Unusual for Vulcans. So that I could be comfortable with them. And they with me."

T'Pol paused then…before getting to the point.

"I think this is why you are my _t'hy'la_." She said. "That is not something that is chosen. It simply is or it is not. But I think that is why. And I am comfortable with you in a way I could not be with any Vulcan."


	47. Chapter 47

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Forward Corridor Approach, Deck A**

Another couple of suicides were waiting to hit them at the entrance to the forward corridor. Waiting just inside the archway, laying down pretending to be dead, one to either side. With grenades.

Alice gave them the word before they got within forty meters, so they had plenty of time to prepare. But still, after a while it had started getting obvious. These guys were going out of their way, more and more the closer they got to the bridge, to take them down and go down with them.

Going out of their way trying to die _with _them.

It was getting way the hell past creepy here.

The first guy they'd come upon way back almost amidships. He'd lain there in the corridor pretending to be dead. He'd actually fallen down while they shot the rest of his friends to pieces. Just fallen down like he'd been hit and…waited.

Alice spotted that before they could walk right past the guy. And he apparently didn't speak English Standard or have a translator, so he didn't catch Alice tell them that guy on the floor right there wasn't injured and was fully conscious. They were actually standing there staring in surprise at the guy…when he finally realized he'd been made and rolled over suddenly. With a grenade in his hand.

That's how they lost Jennings.

Benning had no idea how he processed the awareness of what Jennings was doing in time to throw a hand out and grab at him. Because he threw a hand out to try to grab at him. To stop him from doing that and send him on his way to cover instead.

Not that there was any cover close enough to matter. Which Jennings maybe had realized.

He reached to grab and he missed, because Jennings was already throwing himself on top of that crazy Vulcan.

Benning had been stunned enough at that…that he'd stared for just a second. Just one second. Enough to see Jennings wasn't just trying to wrestle over that grenade. He was fighting to get that grenade _between _them, instead of out of the open.

Just one second. Then T'Lea had a hold of him and took the opportunity to educate everyone on just how far a cute little Vulcan girl could throw a full grown human male.

It turned out to be a pretty impressive distance.

T'Lea took some fragmentation from that in the process though. And not even from the grenade.

She got hit with Jennings' belt buckle. Harrison wouldn't even dig it out to render first aid. It was still sitting there in her back, about an inch deep, with a thick clump of emergency field bandages sprayed on top of the entry wound.

A few had tried to run up on them with grenades since then. A couple had even _shot themselves_ before laying down and playing dead, trying to spring up and shoot them in the back as they passed.

Then after that…they started finding the half dozen or so that didn't have the patience for all that. Those guys had just gone ahead and killed themselves.

Way past creepy.

And now these two guys, around the corner and up ahead. Blocking the forward corridor that led to the bridge.

"Alice, _nothing?" _He asked quietly.

"_I'm sorry. That area of the ship cannot be directly accessed in any manner that would be helpful."_

"That's alright, Alice." Benning said. "I'm not complaining. I've lost track of how many times you've already saved our asses.'

"_Forty-two, Richard."_

He snickered. "Thanks, Alice."

He turned to the others.

"Alright, I'm open to suggestions here. But make it quick, we've got to get there and we've got to get there now."

The Captain of the ship would be on the bridge. Tolaris and all his bridge crew. And as the universal nature of primary shift bridge crew tended to hold true across every culture so far…that'd be either all or most of the command staff.

Take them and you end the fight.

Usually you just take the _bridge _and end the fight. Because then you have control over every ship system from there. They already had that, though, and the damned crazy illogical Vulcans didn't seem to care. They were intent on making them dig every single one of them out. Surrender apparently just wasn't in the playbook.

So that took them right back to Plan A. Take the Captain, he orders the crew to surrender.

Root out and kill every Vulcan on the ship…that was definitely Plan B.

"We can just sneak up on 'em." Breckinridge suggested. "Shoot 'em from the doorway, fall right back before they can blow. Send me and T'Lea."

"T'Lea?" Benning asked. "What do think? Think you can…"

"I think they will hear you coming." She said, calmly. "I might be able to approach undetected but I doubt anyone else here can."

Benning frowned.

"I heard Vulcan's have sensitive hearing but it can't be _that _sensitive."

"They are male." T'Lea said, as if it all were obvious. "They will of course hear you. They can hear you now."

Benning started to retort…then he caught up with what she'd just said.

"What, _now?" _He asked. "We're forty meters down the hall, around a corner, talking low. There's no way."

T'Lea just gave him the eyebrow.

_That _one. The one that meant, 'Of course I'm correct and why are you even questioning that?'

Benning's mouth worked for a second, trying to let the plan he had to deal with this situation express itself.

But he didn't have one of those. So…

"Fuck it." He said, suddenly. "Wait here. I'll go talk to these guys."

He left, ignoring the objections of just about everyone there. And it was funny how his fellow Humans were talking low as if the Vulcans down there couldn't hear them.

He didn't talk to the guys when he got there, though.

He just stepped through the door, shot them both and darted back through the archway as quickly as he could.

He'd just said that, hoping they'd wait to see what the crazy Human was going to say. Wait just a second at least. Instead of detonating those grenades the moment he was through the door.

No idea if it worked or not. Wasn't exactly a great plan or anything. But he did manage to at least tag them both with a solid particle beam and dart back through the archway before those grenades exploded.

* * *

><p>Roscoe watched the door. Tanner had already passed out, though. She'd have to get to him later.<p>

She dug quickly through the little medkit, trying to find the right single-dose charge in there…

Got it. Hypo twisted open, charge inserted and aligned, twisted back. Activated. Three seconds.

She jabbed it into Tulok's shoulder. The _other _shoulder. The one that was still there.

Quick flip of the medkit and she had a pretty crappy field scanner. A quick scan, assessment…

Piece of crap scanner. What did it know? Stupid scanner…

She dug for and loaded another charge.

Tulok watched her. And he found it admirable, even somewhat impressive, the speed and surety at which she worked, even under these conditions. She was practically Vulcan in many ways.

In all the ways he appreciated, in fact. And none of the ways he did not.

"Keyla…" He whispered.

And it was unfortunate. A whisper was all he was capable of at the moment.

"Shut up." She said, applying the second spray. Already bringing the medkit up to peer at the advisory there. Scanning it quickly to find the next medication and dosage it recommended for the condition it detected.

"Keyla…" He tried again.

"Save it for sickbay." Song said, digging out the next dose, twisting open the hypo, inserting, aligning. Activating.

She met his eyes while she administered the next spray.

"Not interested in hearing the speech, Major." She said, as the hypo hissed. "You can tell me all about it in sickbay."

"No." He barely managed.

Song frowned at him.

Turned back, checked the scanner. Started digging in the medkit.

"I…should not have wasted…"

Song sighed, already applying the next spray.

"I don't remember you wasting a lot of time, Tulok." She said, softly now. "Now shut up and let the meds work."

Tulok rasped for breath suddenly. And she did not like that.

So she checked the scanner.

"We did." Tulok whispered.

Faintly. But she heard it.

The scanner…

Was broken or something. That wasn't right.

"Hey." She said sharply, nudging him.

Then bending over to look him in the eye, but his eyes were closed. So she grabbed his jaw to shake him a little.

Nothing.

"Tulok, _hey_." She said. "Don't give it up, Major. Open your damned eyes."

Nothing.

She checked his pulse…then remembered that wasn't going to do much good. Vulcan blood pressure practically wasn't.

She snatched up the scanner again.

She checked it.

Maybe it had another setting. Something more accurate. Probably wasn't set up for Vulcans.

Just a piece of crap field kit…

"Ma'am?" Roscoe said, evenly.

"_What?" _Song said, testily.

She was a little busy here…

"He's gone, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Benning went in first, clearing the door. Making way for T'Lea and Harrison right behind. Breckinridge stepping in once they were clear to take position and hold the door itself.<p>

It wasn't a very big bridge. Just three stations and the chair. Two of the three stations were set right into the wall. So the only place to hide was behind the helm itself.

Benning popped around there, rifle shouldered, ready…

Nobody there.

Bridge was clear.

Which was not good.

They tossed the place a little just to be sure. In case someone was hiding behind a panel or up in the console housing. Maybe tried to shimmy out through an environmental duct.

But, no. There was no one here.

Harrison said it first.

"Son of a bitch." He seethed. "Now what?"

Benning just snorted. Because it was funny.

They had the bridge. The fight should be over. You take the bridge, you take the ship.

But the rules around here were apparently…a little different.

Nothing else to do.

"We fall back." He said. "Link up with Song, get the Captain, get the hell out of here."

"Sir…" Breckinridge sighed, tiredly. Almost pitifully.

And yes, it sucked. Slogging back the way they came, through all _that _hell again, and then on again to the brig.

But there was absolutely no room for pissing and whining.

"We're not going to bitch about it, Crewman." Benning said, firmly. "We're just going to turn around and do it."

"Commander." T'Lea said, where she stood examining one of the stations.

"Yeah?"

"Would you ask Alice if she is able to access and translate this last transmission?"

Benning almost asked what the hell she was talking about. But then he remembered. T'Lea had all access to Alice revoked a little while back, so Alice didn't accept her commands. Which meant Alice just ignored her.

"Alice." He frowned. "Can you access and translate the last transmission from that console?"

"_I have accessed the transmission. I'm sorry, Richard, but I lack the necessary data to translate spoken Romulan with acceptable accuracy."_

"It's Vulcan, Alice." Benning corrected.

"_I'm sorry, Richard. The transmission is in Romulan. While the two languages are similar they are nonetheless distinctive."_

Benning paused.

"It's in _Romulan?" _He asked. Just to be clear.

_"It is."_

"What's it say?"

"_The transmission is coded and my translation is extremely inadequate. However, the highest probability by far is that it is intended to indicate our current coordinates as the location of an enemy vessel, with details suggesting the vessel referenced to be the Tempest."_

Benning squinted at that.

"The Vulcans sent a message to someone, in Romulan, telling them there was a Starfleet vessel here?"

"_That is the most probable accurate rendering of the coded Romulan transmission. Additionally, references are made that seem intended to convey that the Tempest is an unknown class of ship and that she is extremely dangerous. The last spoken sentence may be a request for help. I am only 78% percent certain of that particular translation."_

"Sir." Harrison said. "I think that means we need to get the hell out of here."

"I think you're right." Benning nodded, tightly. "And we're not going to risk wasting time chasing Song around. We'll have to trust they make it to the Alamo. Back to the airlock, double time. We hold there."

* * *

><p>Song found the blood smear on the wall by the door. Dark green, which there was plenty of smeared here and there on this ship at the moment anyway.<p>

But it was fresh. So maybe they _had _hit him.

She shouldered the rifle and checked the portal, swinging around before it to hit all the angles she could from out here.

There was a little blood on the floor over there. And some more near the door exiting to the corridor beyond.

And quick glance back…yeah, blood in the corridor out here too, leading up to this door. So the Vulcan Captain had already been hit and hurt pretty bad when he got here.

Roscoe popped out of the door down the corridor, where she'd come from to get here.

"Ma'am." He said. "I think I've got Tanner stabilized. I'm not exactly a medic though."

Song just nodded, peering into the room still. At the blood by the door over there.

Then she spoke.

"You hold here for now." She said. "I'll be right back."

Roscoe didn't quite see how that was any kind of good idea…

"Uh…Commander…"

"You heard me." She said.

And her voice was cold, He noticed. Cold even for Song, on a bad day.

She disappeared suddenly, into that room she'd been staring into to. Particle rifle shouldered and ready, eyes dead cold. So he thought about that for a second…and decided he'd just hold up here and watch over Tanner for a bit.

Song followed the trail. And it was pretty easy once she got started. He probably hadn't meant to but he'd left a real easy trail to follow.

Down the corridor outside, in and through the…what, lounge area? Whatever this was.

Tripped over that couch looking thing there and spilled a little more blood than he could probably afford as a result.

Out the far door and down the corridor. And he'd fallen again here toward the end.

She checked corners, cleared portals, moved quickly and quietly. There weren't too many of the illogical Vulcans left alive in this ship, but she wasn't taking chances.

She found the long stretch where he'd fallen and ended up crawling for a while. Then where he managed to get up on his hands and knees to teeter along that way for a bit. Then where he'd somehow found the strength to take to his feet again…

…just long enough to reach the lift there, which was where he must have been heading this whole time.

She moved in on the lift. And it was dark, doors open. She cleared it.

And there he was.

Fallen about a meter down in there. And she could guess what had happened. Barely on his feet, desperate, too weak and hurt to pay enough attention and realize the doors may have opened but the lift wasn't there waiting for him.

Stepped in, fell, snick.

Pinned on an emergency brake pin.

Song smirked and lowered her rifle, looking over the situation.

And Tolaris looked back up at her from down there. Breathing hard, bleeding, inch thick brake pin sticking right up through his gut.

Guy was tough. Had to give him that.

Song crouched down comfortably, laying the particle rifle across her knees and resting her hands on that. And she watched for a bit.

Tolaris tried a couple of times to move around. To see if it was in any way possible for him to get up and off that thing again. Maybe go somewhere and…_not _die a slow, agonizing death.

But, nope. Didn't look like that was gonna happen.

"Help me." Tolaris said, choking a bit.

And, well. Okay, then. If he wanted to have a nice conversation in his last few moments…

"Tulok was a decent enough guy." She said. "Kinda liked him. _Very _skilled."

Tolaris just frowned and fiddled around with the emergency brake pin some more.

"Not too many guys like that around. Decent, _compliant_…likable."

Tolaris tried again, frowning this time.

"Help me." He insisted.

"He was right, though." She said, thoughtfully. "We wasted our time. We should have done things differently. Instead of playing around."

Tolaris was getting a little upset down there, she noticed.

"He might have been someone I could have had something with." She said, squinting her eyes at the thought. "I didn't think there were any of _those _around at all. First I've ever met. What do I know, though? Maybe not."

He was glaring now.

"Help me!"

And, well now. Aren't _we _demanding?

Song smiled.

She smiled coldly.

"You're not hearing a thing I'm saying are you?" She said.

"Stop talking and help me now!"

Song stood up again, particle rifle dangling at her side by one hand.

And she examined the situation Tolaris was in down there. Took a good long look at it.

He was pretty stuck. Wasn't going anywhere. Lost his pistol too, so he couldn't even defend himself. He was pretty screwed.

"You're in a bit of a pickle, Captain." Song noted, tilting her head a little in appreciation.

_That _he apparently heard. Because he actually chuckled a bit.

"What does that mean?" He said, through a bloody green grin.

Song gave him a wink and a smile.

"Here." She said. "I'll show you what I mean."

She brought up her other arm, glancing at the PADD. Checking her location.

"Alice?" She said.

"_I'm here, Keyla."_

"Access operations. Send the starboard lift to Deck B, my location."

"_I'm sorry, Keyla. The lift access housing is currently occupied."_

"Command override. Voiceprint authorization, 'Top dog.'"

"_The lift is on its way, Keyla."_

She could already hear the whining sound rising in there already.

And if Tolaris somehow hadn't followed along…that much he understood.

And my, don't we have a temper?

"Help me!" Tolaris demanded. Snarling, no less. Reaching out at her, as if that was anything other than funny.

She crouched right back down again, rifle across her knees.

Getting comfortable. To watch, with a cold grin.

And…Tolaris actually started getting less furious and more terrified.

Not what she'd expected.

Still snarling in there, though. And he tried again to get free of the emergency brake pin.

And, yeah. Not happening.

"Don't feel bad." Song said. "It could be worse."

The whine in the tunnel was growing louder, arriving any second.

Tolaris growled long…and finally roared at her a little.

Oh, yeah. That was perfect.

"When you get there." Song said, leaning in just a little for emphasis. "Make sure to ask my uncle what happened to _him_."

The lift arrived.

In as thoroughly rapid and no-nonsense a manner as one would expect a Vulcan lift to arrive.

Song rested there, hunkered down as she was, for a second or two more. Giving her hair time to settle down from the massive lift flashing right in front of her face like that.

Then she brushed her hair absently back in place.

Took to her feet again, rifle ready. And made her way back to Roscoe.


	48. Chapter 48

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Shran had watched, via scans relayed to the command console from the Science station.

Watched as the _Tempest _teams moved in through the hard dock, right behind a pair of photon grenades that lit up that part of the display for a brief moment. And lit up the Vulcans waiting there to ambush them as well.

Watched as the teams split up, Benning heading to the bridge, Song to the brig.

And she'd watched as the _Tempest _lived up to her name. With Alice controlling the battlefield over there, using the _Vahklas' _operations systems against its own crew, it made for quite a show. It really was a sort of storm tearing loose all throughout that ship. She saw quite a few of the Vulcans panicking and doing all sorts of delightfully stupid things in response to all the madness going on. It was very entertaining.

But she saw that little indicator on the modified version of the sensor scans, too. The modified version Alice had made little notes on for the boarding team's PADDS. Quickest or safest routes from here to there. Potential resources to avail themselves of, especially things that Alice might be able to make use of in covering their advance.

Locations of downed crewmen, like Commander Hess. That little white circle on Deck B, near the brig.

Then later, Hastings just a few corridors away. Followed by Jennings on approach to the bridge and then Tulok practically next door to Hastings.

And the two red circles, Captain Tucker and Commander T'Pol.

So Shran had occasion to reflect that the Captain's decision not to allow her on the vessel had not been a good decision. He'd been wrong. It should have been her there conducting those repairs. Then _she _would have been captured, instead of him, and he'd be _here _overseeing all this.

Commander Song, however, had clearly been right in not allowing her to go on the boarding action. Because she would not have comported herself in a manner expected of a Starfleet officer the moment she saw one of her crew wounded or killed.

Hess was bad enough. But Hess wasn't crew. She wasn't…family.

Hastings was. And Jennings was.

And maybe Tulok had been approaching that point.

And if she were going to admit it, she wasn't doing well with witnessing all the close calls T'Lea was having over there either. Especially that grenade. She was badly wounded now and that made Shran's blood run hot.

That would have probably gotten someone's face bashed in. She'd have definitely had to find somebody to punish for that.

And she probably wouldn't have gotten her team to wherever they were going very quickly either. Which was really the main point here. She'd have been too careful and too cautious with her teammate's lives. Because they were too precious to her.

Just watching all this on the scans…a lot of it was funny and she got a real sense of justice from a good bit of it. These stupid, crazy Vulcans had threatened her ship and crew, after all. Tried to take the ship and kill her family.

But the dead…and the wounded…and the incessant, never ending wave of threats assailing the boarding teams that she couldn't do anything about but watch happen…

She didn't have any of those crazy Vulcans on hand, here on the bridge, that she could throttle viciously to help her deal with that.

She really needed something like that right now.

So when that shuttle tried to debark from the _Vahklas_, blasting through the docking bay doors Alice had locked down…she was sorely tempted. And when it turned and fired on the _Tempest _like that, circling around as if pretending it posed some kind of threat…she almost blasted that thing to dust.

That would have felt good. It would have felt very good.

But what felt better was targeting the power grid on that thing, tuning the third starboard phase cannon down a good bit and disabling it with two good shots.

Having Eckerd give the thing a thorough scanning, since whoever piloted that shuttle was thoughtful enough to come around to the other side of the ship. The side of the ship where their sensor arrays weren't quite so tied up at the moment.

And then having Million hit it and reel it into the cargo bay with the grapplers.

Because, thank you, _Vahklas_. We were short one shuttle. Much appreciated.

Steel, Crenshaw and Downing were Flight, Comm and Engineering respectively. Not exactly security department skullcrackers, but they could handle two guys in a shuttle.

And they did. Reporting from the cargo bay soon enough that both of the Vulcans in there were dead, foaming at the mouth from some kind of poison.

Shran didn't mind that at all.

So maybe all the little Vulcan lying techniques that T'Lea had taught her had helped. She'd handled that pretty well, she thought.

That made her a little more confident. She got control of her reactions here a little more and got her antennae turned around straight. So she was able then to do her part in all this.

The vast majority of the Vulcan crew over there were dead or incapacitated. There wasn't anyone or anything that threatened the hard dock anymore. Benning had taken the bridge and was apparently relocating to the Alamo, and Song and Roscoe were moving in on the brig already.

And the little cluster of blue circles on the _Tempest's _internal sensors, the ones just inside the hard dock, were still waiting for her to give the signal. Claiborne and James, her own two engineers. Andrews, the doctor, and Jenson, the steward. Steel, Crenshaw and Downing hustling up the main corridor to rejoin them.

All armed and ready to move in to secure the hard dock on the _Vahklas _side. To throw up barricades, mount the two heavy crowd control guns the _Tempest _wasn't really supposed to have in storage and establish the Alamo.

She hadn't been able to give that order up to that point. Risking the very last of the crew, ordering them into danger like that. Four engineers, the Gamma comm officer, the doctor and the ship's steward. And she really should have already given that order.

But she could give it now. Because maybe T'Lea's little lying techniques had helped.

So she did. And they moved in to do that, so Benning and Song could have a safe place to bring their people home to.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Vahklas<br>**__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Brig, Deck B**

They hadn't exactly run out of things to talk about or anything. Trip could easily have run off two dozen topics that he'd enjoy discussing with her. Another dozen things that would have been really good to share at the moment. An easy _hundred _things he was curious about, since he hadn't exactly had time to pull up the ship's database on Vulcans.

And he was pretty sure T'Pol could have said the same. She'd carried her half of the conversation just fine so far.

But right now they were just being quiet. Not talking about anything in particular. Just being together.

Because it was coming down to the wire. The…Vulcans out there, if that's what they even were...Trip wasn't exactly sure about that particular point anymore. He had a couple of ideas about that and he wasn't sure calling those guys Vulcans would be all that accurate.

But they'd had plenty of time to secure the _Tempest_. Take control of her and kill, or hopefully just capture, his crew. Time to do that and wrap things up, get back to the _Vahklas _to celebrate.

And a big part of that, he was convinced, was going to involve he and T'Pol. Probably mostly T'Pol.

There wasn't a damned thing he could do about that either. He was sure as hell going to go down swinging, you could bet on that. And he'd take at least one of those bastards with him when he went. As many as he could but at _least _one or two.

He hadn't mentioned that to T'Pol yet. He had a funny idea she'd try to talk him out of that. Something logical that he knew damned well she'd convince him of. Hence his not bringing it up, not _wanting _to be convinced.

And they'd been distracting themselves and one another from what was coming all this time. Spending their last moments just being together. Coming as close to one another as they could with the time they had left.

So he hadn't brought it up. He'd just thought about it, made his decision and was prepared to go down swinging when the time came. Make at least some of those sons of bitches out there regret opening that cell door when they did.

T'Pol, meanwhile, was perfectly aware of all that. She was familiar enough with both Humans and males to have accurately guessed what was going on in his mind. And if he'd brought the subject up or even asked for her input on the matter, she was fully prepared to guide him in making the logical decision here.

Not to risk his life when their captors came. Do whatever was necessary to live, just as _she_ intended to. Allow what was going to happen to simply happen, to the extent that it was not possible to avoid that happening.

And with the two of them alive, as long as they were alive, having come as close to one another and become as intimate with one another as they had, they could then avail themselves of the strength and peace that awareness provided in order to, potentially at least, survive the abuse.

That offered the highest probability, however low that probability might be, of long-term survival. And logically enough, where there was life there was all the potential of life. The chance to heal and recover. To eventually resume the relationship that had become the central point here and the most important element in the entire consideration.

But he hadn't asked and she hadn't found the appropriate opportunity yet to broach the subject herself. And if that did not occur before the Romulans came to abuse and torture them…then she would simply utilize the _to'tsu'k'hy_, that particular psychic nervous system pulse, to render him unconscious before he could behave irrationally, expending both his life and her greatest source of strength recklessly.

If they survived, she was certain he would eventually be forgiving. He was a forgiving person, or at least tried to be. And if they did not survive, then of course it hardly mattered.

So they sat and they waited. In peace, intimate with one another to an impressive degree. Even without any notable physical contact at all.

She was very pleased with this and it was entirely satisfactory. Imminent torture and death notwithstanding.

But it did bring to mind one small matter which she had yet to explore with him. Something she otherwise wouldn't have considered exploring with him for some time. And despite this disturbing the quiet moment they shared, she decided this was a good time to do so.

"Are you familiar with the term '_ozh'esta_'?" She asked, suddenly.

Trip nearly startled at this, the first spoken word between them in quite a little while.

"Ozzy-what?" He asked, curiously.

"It is a Vulcan term." She said. "It means, 'finger embrace'. At least, that is the most accurate translation."

Trip thought about that for a moment, searching his memories.

"No." He decided. "Never heard of it."

That was all the encouragement she required.

"Here." She said, immediately. "I will show you."

She presented her hand to him, the index and middle finger firmly locked. All others folded gracefully and respectfully out of the way at the palm. Thumb offering its support at the base of the index.

Trip stared at it, waiting for it to communicate whatever it was trying to.

"Do this." She prompted him.

And he did. A little hesitantly, glancing between the two hands to be sure he was doing it right. Didn't exactly look difficult or anything, but maybe he was missing something subtle…

She offered her hand to his. Offering the two locked digits of her hand to those of his hand.

And they touched.

T'Pol felt it immediately. The sudden but entirely comfortable sense of connection. The easy sharing of comfort, unity and very present intimacy.

She almost sighed. And she surely would have, had this been even a little more private a setting than it was.

To touch and connect through the neural nodes of the body was one thing, of course. That was affectionate and intimate, addressing a specific health need no less than that. But this was different, though in what manner exactly she would have had difficulty explaining.

This was the Vulcan kiss. And it was a kiss in every way the Human kiss was. It had existed among the Vulcan people for as long as the Human kiss had among them. Much longer, in fact, as the Vulcan people themselves had existed for longer.

T'Pol's hand moved, however carefully, as she allowed it to do as it willed. The fingers of her hand caressing gracefully, almost instinctively, following the form of Trip's own fingers. Slowly and luxuriantly up the one side…over and around, almost teasingly, to the other…and down again to the base. Around again, availing itself of every opportunity for connection, tempting the nerves of the fingers to open and to connect even more.

Trip was captivated immediately and she was pleased and somewhat entertained to see this. She watched his eyes shine with interest, with humor and even with appreciation as they kissed in this way.

"What is that?" He said, smiling.

"This is the Vulcan kiss." She answered, softly.

He grinned. And nodded once, appreciatively.

"I could really get into that." He said.

T'Pol nodded. Of course.

"It is much like the touch we shared in the ready room." She explained, still caressing slowly and gracefully. "Somewhat different, just as different forms of touch are different for you, I assume…"

"Yeah, it is." Trip said. "That feels incredible. In fact…that feels a lot better than it should, for just touching fingers. Like a real, actual _kiss_…how are you doing that?"

T'Pol felt bold at the moment, of course. And she shared the slightest sparkle in her eyes with him because of it. To show that she was amused at his reaction and pleased that he was pleased.

"It utilizes psychic nervous system communication, just as…"

Wait.

Wait a moment…

…communication?

T'Pol blinked.

"This…is unusually pleasant to you?" She asked, tentatively. To clarify the matter.

"Yeah." Trip nodded, still captivated. "Like we're really kissing. And it's a damned good kiss…"

T'Pol was staring at him.

"What?" He said, uncertainly. "It's supposed to do that, right?"

"Yes, but…" She stumbled. "I assumed…no, you should not be able to experience that."

"Why not?"

T'Pol considered. And she left her fingers to do as they would for a moment in order to do so.

"In the ready room," She said, tentatively. "There was no indication that you were able to participate in this form of contact. It was entirely passive for you. With little or no reciprocal response."

Trip gave up trying to follow along with that about halfway through, turning his primary attention back to enjoying the hell out of that finger-kiss thing.

"Well, I'm enjoying the hell out of this." He said. "Keep going."

T'Pol stared. Stared as their hands slowly danced together, even his having joined in the movement and caress. As their fingers became one together, sharing and provoking affection and intimacy from beyond the unknown. Allowing it to overflow and fall into and through the nervous system. The one, singular system they now shared…

He received pleasure from this. Pleasure, contentment and comfort. Those things might _seem _entirely passive…but they were not. Those were reward mechanisms, built into the very foundations of the mind. Rewards for responding in kind to the signals her nervous system was sending…

So he was sending them too. Both sending and receiving, just as she was. They were communicating…

That should not have been possible for a Human. They were not capable of that.

Or…perhaps the Vulcan Medical Institute had merely assumed so. As far as she was aware, it had never actually been tested rigorously…

There was only one logical response to this surprising development, of course.

She was over and sitting in his lap before he knew it, being as wrapped up as he was in experiencing this new thing. He was a curious person and thoroughly enjoyed exploring new things.

So she kinda took him by surprise there.

It wasn't as if she'd really _jumped _him or anything. She'd just moved over and sat in his lap. And she did it without breaking contact or interrupting that finger-kiss thing.

Reaching for his face…hesitating long enough to look him in the eye, looking for whatever she felt she needed to see there to work up her nerve…

And then she touched him. Touched his face gently. Moving her fingers around a little, looking for…something. Finding it, pressing just so, making contact.

And Trip experienced another new thing then.

The sight of T'Pol's face literally lighting up in wonder.

She stared right into his eyes, with that incredible awestruck expression on her face and…

"_Vu-katra." _She breathed.

That image stuck with him for a good long time. And he resolved right then, without really realizing he'd made the resolution, that he was going to make a hobby out of whatever the heck _'vu-katra' _was.

* * *

><p>Benning led his team hiking briskly down the corridor. Making their way to the Alamo, checking his PADD on the run to be sure they weren't running up on anything. Making sure they weren't even moving too <em>close <em>to something they might need to be wary of.

He saw Song split off from her team for while. Leaving Roscoe and Tanner in a small room to go chasing down one particular Vulcan. Finding him in the lift, apparently. And then just standing there.

Having a conversation, he had to assume. He checked back twice while still on the run and both times Song and that Vulcan were on the scan just sitting there together. Then the next time he checked Song was heading back and the Vulcan life sign was just plain gone.

So…okay. Whatever.

They managed to avoid any trouble easily enough. Both teams had already attracted the attentions of almost every Vulcan on the ship just getting where they'd been going. And most of those Alice had picked off a batch at a time before they could even become a direct threat. So the hike back wasn't nearly as terrible and dangerous as they'd feared it would be.

There weren't too many Vulcans alive on the ship anymore. And most of those few that were still alive…Alice was busy beating the living hell out of, just to be sure they couldn't pose a threat. So even those probably weren't going to last much longer, much less cause them any trouble.

T'Lea finally started stumbling about halfway back, though. The planet Vulcan might have built her people bone tough…but even they had limits. That belt buckle lodged deep in her back finally started being a problem. Benning didn't even want to think what it was doing to her inside there.

Breckinridge and Harrison ended up having to throw an arm over and under, to just drag her along, with Benning running point with the particle rifle and the PADD. And the girl actually had the gumption to argue that at first, refusing to allow two Human males to put their hands all over her that way. But since she was already in too bad a shape to do much but verbally disagree with it, Benning just ordered them to and they all just ignored her half dozen attempts to reason with them on the issue.

They made the Alamo soon enough, without having come across a single living _Vahklas _Vulcan in the process.

There Benning turned T'Lea over to Andrews, so he could get to work on that belt buckle. He'd already set up a sort of medical station on the _Tempest _side of the hard dock. Breckinridge was security, but Benning knew he'd pretty much reached his limits. So he left him there on the forward riot gun and grabbed Downing to replace him.

Then he just kept on moving, right on out the other side of the Alamo. Running now, with Harrison and Downing right on his heels.

Because he'd already seen on the PADD…Roscoe and Song were trying to get to the brig as fast as they could. Cutting around, and as often _through_, the half dozen barricades the Vulcans had thrown up down there.

Trying to get there fast. Because the two Vulcans there…two of only a handful left alive on the ship…they weren't bunkered down outside the brig waiting for them anymore.

They were in the cell with the Captain and T'Pol.

And there was only one reason they'd be in there right now.

* * *

><p>T'Pol stared into his eyes. And damn did she stare hard.<p>

"I touch you." She whispered, after a moment.

Like _that _was supposed to explain any-…

Or, wait. What was…?

"What's…?" He asked, confused. "Is that…? What is that?"

Because…yeah. What _was _that?

"That is me." T'Pol murmured. "That is my _katra_. You are touching it."

He almost pulled his finger out of that erotic finger dance thing going on over there to one side. But then he figured she meant how she was touching his face, so he almost started pulling his head away.

He hadn't meant to go around fondling people's _katras _or anything…whatever _that _was…

"No." She objected. Almost pleading.

And that was pretty much it. Trip suddenly had no idea what the heck was going on. Things had kinda turned about six ways from Sunday in the last ten seconds.

But…that was feeling pretty good.

And…that _was _her, wasn't it? That thing he was sensing. Like he was plugged right into her. He could _feel _her.

He could sorta feel…the socks on her feet. Inside her shoes. And how snug those shoes were. Because she liked to keep her shoes snug like that.

And the way the collar of her shirt was tight on her neck a little. And how that felt comfortable to her. That was why she kept the zipper all the way up the way she did, instead of giving it a few inches like everyone else.

And…he could feel a couple of other things suddenly. Because they came to mind then, when he sorta halfway realized what was going on.

Things he didn't think were maybe all that gentlemanly to be feeling just then.

But he did. He'd thought of it and now he couldn't help it.

He could feel her undershirt and how that felt on her. And the bra under that and how she didn't find it all that comfortable.

And under that…how heavy that felt to her at the moment. And how that weight suddenly needed…

His head was spinning, trying to keep up with it all.

And T'Pol was breathing pretty heavily. He could see it, sense it and feel it. That odd sense of awareness going on down there, too.

Kinda…provoked a little reaction of his own. One that was going to make itself pretty obvious in about three seconds, with her sitting right in his lap like that.

And T'Pol sensed that herself.

He could _feel _her become instantly, sharply aware of that.

And she groaned a kind of growling groan then, let go of the finger-embrace that was still going on and snatched that other hand of hers to his face, too.

He could feel her. And not just the physical stuff either, he realized. Not just socks and shoes and shirts and…ungentlemanly bits.

He could feel what she was feeling. And thinking.

He _felt _her run face first into that decision that had just confronted her.

Whether to stop this. To pull back and get her head together. Explain what had just happened. Tell him that she could touch his _katra_, his soul, and how he could touch hers. And how this opened up a whole new realm of possibilities for them that they might want to sit down and have a couple dozen serious discussions about.

Or…snatch him by the hair of the head and plant a lip lock on him. Try to see if she could suck his brains out through his mouth. Find out how cool his mouth would feel on hers and if it'd be every bit as arousing and needful and satisfying as she was sure it would. And how his cool, hard chest would feel pressed against hers. And those strong, rough, cool hands of his…everywhere else. And the other thing that just presented itself for consideration…

He felt her make her decision.

And he met her halfway there.

Because, yes. And double yes. And _hell, yes_. And he'd just have to feel bad about it in the morning.


	49. Chapter 49

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Brig, Deck B**

Centurian D'Llran did not consider himself an evil person. He considered himself a loyal subject of the Empire.

Loyal as any true Romulan was loyal. Which is to say, loyal to the extent that he would freely and readily do anything, even the most terrible evil, in the service of the Empire.

He would murder without regret or remorse. He would burn entire families alive. He would bury the enemies of the Empire to their necks in the dirt and expose their faces to swarms of stinging insects. He would inject acidic poisons into the veins of helpless children. He would rape and torture and reduce the minds of sentient beings to empty husks of everlasting horror.

He would do these things. He had _done _these things. All for the Empire, because that is what it meant to be Romulan.

And if he'd enjoyed doing these things and would continue to enjoy doing even worse things in the future, that was meaningless. That he did these things for the Empire, that is what mattered.

He had shoved the face of the Vulcan woman into the door of the cell for the Empire. He had tormented her before the Human who so obviously cared for her for the Empire. He had threatened rape and abuse by scores of his men for the Empire.

And when his men returned he would fulfill his promise to both of them. He would rip and tear the very soul of that Vulcan prisoner and visit horrors upon her that would scar her soul for the rest of her life. Which would not be for very long. And then he would do the same to the Human Captain. And he would do this for the Empire.

That he would thoroughly enjoy it and take overwhelming pleasure in it…that meant nothing. Even that was for the Empire.

So when the ship suddenly seemed to come alive…when it began speaking to them in Vulcan, speaking _as _a Vulcan…that had been surprising. But D'Llran recovered quickly and he listened carefully.

And he reacted as rapidly as he was able.

Because that was what the Empire required of him.

"_Attention crew of the Vahklas. Your boarding attempt against the Tempest has failed. Your boarding party has been completely neutralized. I have full control of all ship systems. Your ability to communicate and coordinate with other crewmen has been lost. Your commanding officers are currently attempting to abandon ship. My crew has boarded and are proceeding through the corridors, searching for you. They are well trained and heavily armed. At this moment seventeen of your fellow crewmen have already been slaughtered and we have suffered no casualties. Your only hope of survival is to surrender immediately. _

"_Lay down weapons, assume a prone position and wait for security officers to take you into custody. This is the logical choice. There is no other choice that is logical. You have thirty seconds to make your individual decisions. Any crewman who is not clearly identified as having surrendered at that time will be considered an enemy combatant. All enemy combatants will be mercilessly and brutally exterminated."_

D'Llran thought fiercely, shoving aside the shocked reaction to that announcement that so threatened to claim his senses. Thinking, assessing, realizing the implications and determining how best to respond.

And doing that immediately. With only twenty-six seconds to spare.

"Cut off all computer access to systems in the brig, to these two corridors and to the weapons locker." He ordered. "Disable security cameras. Kill the power to all areas. Cut all hard lines and conduits. Move quickly!"

He had the Human Captain of that ship held prisoner here, in the brig. In the detention area behind him, in the cell. Those boarding parties the ship had spoke of…they would be coming _here_. To retrieve their Captain.

The Empire required that he not allow that to happen. At any cost, not to allow that. So he would not.

His men moved, the moment he'd ordered them to. Even shocked and thoroughly intimidated as they were, they moved quickly. And they attempted to obey his orders, even in that state. Because the Empire required them to.

Twenty-six seconds was not enough. And they were unfamiliar with the ship and its layout to begin with, especially to the degree of detail needed to do as he'd commanded. But they moved quickly and they managed to avoid a little of what had been implicitly threatened.

Gravity plating was suddenly turned against them first, hampering their movements. So they cut the power to the plates in all areas and took control of them with their own power source, a portable generator available in the staging area.

That took time. A lot of time. During which the ship mercilessly and brutally exterminated them, as it had promised.

The ship…or rather the Human ship's _computer_, they eventually realized, killed the lights in the area before they could finish reactivating gravity. They were forced to maneuver in the dark in a weightless environment to retrieve and make use of chemical lighting.

Life support was turned against them next, with temperature extremes, air pressure and oxygen depletion brought to bear. They donned EVA suits to compensate, but D'Llran lost four men to that.

Power surges began to occur, enough that the conduits they hadn't managed to cut yet began to overload and explode through the walls and floor. He lost three more men to that.

The doors became death traps, slamming with impossible speed and power against anyone attempting to pass through. Or even foolishly allowing some part of their anatomy to breach the threshold. Four men were lost to that.

A brave attempt to identify and disable the system allowing control of the doors failed, with a power surge occurring there when the attempt was made. That was the last man he lost.

In the end only he and S'Tev remained alive, all others either dead or put out of their misery by D'Llran himself.

But they had gravity, dim red chemical lighting, armored EVA suits and all the power cells and demolitions from the weapons locker available to them.

They fortified the brig, threw down barricades along both approaches to the area, welded the doors and took position behind the desk with disruptor rifles and grenades.

And they waited.

Already hearing the distant sounds of approaching combat. And the regular, almost predictable attempts of the computer generated voice over the ship's intercom system to demoralize them.

"_Attention Vahklas crewman. We have currently eliminated in excess of fifty percent of your total crew complement. We have suffered no casualties. Your commanding officer has surrendered and has issued orders that you lay down arms and surrender as well. There exists no possibility of the continued pursuit of the integration of emotion and logic without first continuing to live. To continue to live, you must surrender. This is the logical choice. There is no other choice that is logical. Listen to your emotions and allow them to guide you to wisdom. My crew awaits the opportunity to spare your lives and accept your surrender. Failure to do so will result in your brutal and merciless execution."_

They waited, watching both entrances intently.

And the sounds of battle grew closer. Distance thumps and unidentifiable noises, interspersed with regular announcements by the enemy ship's computer. Announcements as regular as clockwork, enough that they were able to accurately measure the passage of time without even having to check their data units to do so.

And still the sounds of battle grew closer.

"_Attention Vahklas crewman. We have currently eliminated in excess of eighty percent of your total crew complement. Your commanding officer has elected to commit suicide over his shame at your refusal to obey orders and spare yourselves. Those crewmen that have surrendered are currently enjoying medical treatment for their injuries. They implore you to surrender and join them. _

"_Twenty-one of your fellow crewmen who have failed to surrender have been killed by boarding parties. Nineteen have been evacuated into open space. Twelve have suffocated under an excess of thirty standard gravities. Four have died from environmental exposure after a long and painful period of time. Nine have been crushed in doorways and quarantine bulkheads. Eight have been electrocuted. Seven have suffered terminal exposure to proximal explosive concussion. Avail yourself of the opportunity to avoid a similar fate by disarming and assuming a prone position until security personnel are able to take you into custody."_

They waited.

The sounds grew ever closer.

And they continued to wait, covering the entrances with their disruptor rifles as the computer continued to make its announcements. Continued its attempts to demoralize them and tempt them to surrender.

As the sounds of battle grew closer still.

"_Attention Vahklas crewman. I'm sorry, but we are no longer accepting offers of surrender."_

They waited. And they watched.

The Humans were near. Only an intersection or two down the hall.

They could even hear their voices as they shouted commands to one another out there.

They would reach them at any moment.

S'Tev was the first to say it. Saying what they were both thinking, because the Empire would not allow him to be the one to say it first. It had to be S'Tev, so that D'Llran would have the chance to decide whether the Empire would approve the statement or whether S'Tev should be shot for saying it.

"We are going to die." S'Tev said.

Not bemoaning that. Not panicking or crying about it. Simply offering that fact for consideration.

And D'Llran decided…he was right. They were going to die. There was no hope to be had here.

So what the Empire required of them was perfectly clear.

They must kill the Human Captain and the Vulcan security officer before the boarding parties arrived.

Kill them in as brutal and horrible a manner as possible in the time allowed to them. So that their supposed rescuers would know horror when they arrived and found them.

Then die fighting hopelessly against the Humans. So that the Humans would know there was only horror and death to be had in daring to stand against the Romulan Star Empire.

D'Llran made the decision quickly and issued the order immediately.

"We will use our disruptors to detach the desk from the floor." D'Llran said. "Block the door to the detention area with it so that we can pass without being crushed. Bring a blade and a thermite grenade. We will gut the female and immolate the Captain."

* * *

><p>She devoured him. Devoured him recklessly and willfully. And she could not reach her satisfaction.<p>

Approaching it, drawing closer to it. But her need and her requirement only swelled all the more to compensate. And there was no frustration at this at all.

It was entirely glorious.

His mouth was as cool and pleasurable as she had known it would be. Rewarding and fulfilling. On her mouth, on her face and on her neck.

She had her hands in his hair, exploring the wonder of that sensation, even as she drew him almost desperately closer to her. The feel of his hair sliding between her fingers. The intermittent contact with random nodes and contact points on his skull. As his mouth assaulted her in so welcome a manner.

Her shirt already unzipped and her neckline open to him. And she couldn't remember, nor did she care, how that had happened. Open to that cool, magnificent mouth singing his affection and desire for her, so that she was joyfully gratified that it had.

She let go her need to rule him for a moment, allowing her head to fall back, tossing her awareness into the air around her. Giving herself to that sensation for a necessary moment…before snatching him back and reclaiming his mouth again, to own him again.

His hands on her skin, gliding along her back and stomach…rough, cool, strong hands…the shirt had to go. It was in the way…

He grabbed her neck from behind before she could remove it, yanking her savagely away from him.

And she almost thought that he'd been overwhelmed himself for a moment. That he'd been rough and careless with her in his desperate, dominating need.

That would have been thrilling. That would have tempted her to respond in kind. To provoke him to greater aggression.

But that was not Trip.

Reality spun harshly and rapidly. Spinning and circling, crashing in on her before she was in any way prepared for it to.

Because they'd come.

The Romulans. Two of them. Come to torment and abuse and kill them.

And they'd interrupted this.

Interrupted and invaded this wonderful, needful experience that they'd evoked between them.

T'Pol found that…disagreeable.

That was _extremely_ disagreeable.

And her fury at that erupted before she was able to contain it. Not that she had any inclination to do so.

* * *

><p>Trip was on his feet, hands out from his side in preparation to…do whatever he could do here.<p>

There just wasn't anything he could do.

The one standing in the door had a rifle shouldered and ready, aiming right at his chest. Standing in front of the entrance to the brig, outside the cell. Finger on the trigger, ready to fire the very split second he gave him any reason to.

T'Pol had been thrown clear of him. Grabbed by the neck while they'd been so completely distracted. Grabbed, lifted and thrown fully from the cell, out into the brig itself.

That one had gone after her immediately, leaving Trip sitting on the floor trying to wrap his head around what the hell just happened. Seeing T'Pol go flying. Seeing the guy who'd appeared out of nowhere go right after her…something held tight in one hand, snatching with his other to draw a very nasty looking six inch blade from a sheath on the chest plate of his armored EVA suit…

That got things into focus instantly. And he'd been on his feet and out the door of the cell as quick as his could get himself there…

Running right into the sights of the _other _guy, the one standing in the door of the brig with the very deadly looking energy rifle.

He was stuck.

_That _guy made it real clear he was waiting for him to even _twitch_…and then he'd shoot him just as dead as Kov had been. As dead as Hess had been.

So he was stuck.

He could only watch helplessly, fighting the insane impulse to throw himself into the fight going on over there. Where T'Pol had gone flying into the wall and the guy with the knife had gone after her.

Watching helplessly, madly, as she tried to deflect the vicious downward thrust of the blade coming for her chest. Lashing out, unbalanced, where she lay. Striking and deflecting the stiff, heavy arm wielding that knife…only just a little before it struck.

So that it stabbed fully into her shoulder, rather than into her chest. All the way into her shoulder, right down to the hilt.

And she _screamed _in pain, grabbing that arm with both hands.

That had been it. Any actual possibility of deciding what to do here was gone. The decision was made for him, by whatever base Human instinct claimed final authority in such cases.

He'd heard Alice's voice speaking to him the second he'd cleared the door of the cell. He hadn't actually paid any attention to what she'd said to him because there was too many other things demanding his attention…but some deep part of him must have heard. Some part of him heard it and picked up the important parts. Something about operations control and killer doors. Something like that. He'd got the basic gist of it anyway.

And he'd prayed for this, hadn't he?

He had that one quick, clear thought as he charged right for the guy with the rifle.

He'd prayed for this. Over an hour ago, sitting alone in the cell. Grieving for Hess.

Praying, he knew very well at the time, for something entirely impossible. The chance to go back somehow and do something different. To go back and have just a chance, any small chance, to save Hess and Kov, even if that meant he died instead of them.

An impossible prayer, he knew, even as he'd prayed for it. It was something God would never grant him and he hadn't really expected Him to. It had been just a prayer of grief and pain. Sharing that pain and regret with God, alone in a brig cell, waiting to be tortured and killed. Even if he really did mean it.

And yet here it was.

Prayer answered.

He'd been given that impossible chance. And he took it, gladly.

That one short year back in high school…he'd played football that year. And not even for the whole year. He'd eventually given it up, because…his studies had suffered. And he'd had plans that required keeping his grades up. Keeping them _perfect_. So…football fell by the wayside.

But that all came back to him right then. It all came back as clear and absolute as if he were on the field again. Sixteen years old and the whole world consisting entirely of making that tackle…

Tuck it in, keep your eyes on the guy at all times.

Determine the proper angle…he was right there, but he had a weapon, so just a quick jink to one side and then straight in…

The guy fired the rifle…the blue-green bolt flashing right past his shoulder…at the spot where he _should _have been…where he _had _been right before that little jink…right at where he wasn't anymore…

Break stance before contact…bend your knees a little, hips down, get your hands back…lean your upper body slightly forward, lead with your inside shoulder…keep your head up and your back straight…

Keep your feet moving! Don't lose momentum when you break your stance!

Contact!

_Push _with your feet as hard as you can, _drive _with your legs! Drive _through _his body, right at his hips…

Wrap your arms around him, right under his butt…knock him off his feet, keep _pushing_, keep _moving_, keep _driving _that shoulder _through _him…

Move, drive, push…_keep it up _until he's down and the ref blows the whistle…

They hit the desk sitting in the doorway. The one blocking the doors.

Hit it and drove it back. All the way back. Until Trip had the guy slammed into the desk, pushed back over it, off balance and off his feet…

When the guy finally reacted to the absolutely insane thing this ridiculous Human had just done to him.

Reacted by raising both fists together, since the disruptor rifle had been knocked out of his hands…raised them high together and brought them down with all his strength against the Human's back.

Trip hit the deck like a sack of rocks. Breath knocked out of him, almost rendered unconscious from the overwhelming shock of the blow. He reeled from it, writhing on the floor, right at Centurian D'Llran's feet.

D'Llran then shoving away from the desk he'd been driven into. Nearly driven and thrown _onto_, prone on his back. Regaining his feet and pushing off from the desk to stomp that Human's skull in.

Pushing angrily off from the desk.

Pushing the desk _back _those last few inches in the process.

Clearing the doorway, just as he began to step forward. So that Alice could do what she'd been patiently waiting to do.

* * *

><p>T'Pol let her rage burn. Ignited at first by the absolute shock of some completely stupid person daring to interrupt…<p>

Then she noticed. And then she realized.

She'd been thrown a full four meters. Thrown out of the cell, through the air and into the wall opposite the cell door. By someone in a heavily armored EVA suit.

So that one was Romulan. No one else would have such strength.

And he was coming for her already. Something grasped tightly in one hand…but that was not what he came at her with. He snatched a blade from a sheath at his chest instead. And _that _is what he came for her with.

She tried to redirect the blow, but laying as prone and awkward and hurt as she was…she failed. That is why she'd let her rage burn. For that extra bit of strength she would need here.

But it was not enough. The blade struck home. Not in her chest as the man had intended, but into her shoulder instead.

Fully into her shoulder. To the hilt. And the sudden, penetrating agony of that made her scream despite herself.

But her rage burned. So that was acceptable. The blade was in her shoulder and so the blade was hers now. And he was forced to compete with her rage, trying to draw it out again to injure her further. While she had both hands on his wrist, refusing to let him have it back.

Claiming it as her own. Payment for having hurt her.

A quick twist at the wrist, where the stiff material and armor plating of the EVA suit availed him nothing…and his hand was free of the blade. She had the blade. It was hers. And she held it in the wound in her shoulder as she claimed his wrist as well.

A twist and a sharp tug, and he slipped and fell face first into the wall just above her. The faceplate of his helmet clacking against the duranium wall.

Both her legs rising up, wrapping around, claiming his entire body now. And she did with it as she wished now, because it was hers.

A quick, harsh thrust of her hips and shoulders, and she flipped him over, off his feet. Flipping him onto his back, prone on the floor. And she rolled over on top of him, sitting at his center of gravity…

One hand at his neck, holding him down, while the other snatched the blade from her shoulder.

And her rage burned, driving through her chest, through her arm and through the blade. Driving it with all the power a raging Vulcan woman could drive a blade.

And that was quite a lot.

Enough to fracture the faceplate of his helmet with the first blow. Crack it on the second. Shatter a fist sized piece of it with the third, the blade breaking through then to pierce his cheekbone and enter his face.

And now _he _screamed.

That was gratifying. And not because they were even in that sense now…but because she'd struck just exactly where Trip had been struck on _his _face. So she'd settled that score as well.

She'd forgotten what the man held in his other hand, though. And he remembered it himself then in his desperate terror over what had just happened to him.

He brought that up now, activating it. Bringing the thermite grenade up to slap it roughly into her chest. Pushing against her with it, trying to get her _off _of him…but ready in case he couldn't…

Ready for it to detonate and take them both.

Because he was Romulan. And if he must die then she would die with him.

* * *

><p>Trip tried to roll away. Tried to scoot and pull himself away. Somehow, someway, get <em>out <em>of there. Get _away _from that guy.

He'd forgotten…these guys may or may not technically be Vulcan…and he still wasn't entirely sure on that point…but the fact was…

They sure as hell _hit _like Vulcans.

Might as well have hit him with a sledgehammer, right square in the back.

He couldn't even _breathe_…

He managed somehow to get from here to there. Here being the spot where he'd slammed into the floor when that guy hit him like that. There being just a couple of feet away.

Which…was far enough, he was surprised to find. Because the guy was stuck in the doorway somehow.

It took a second before Trip could convince his body to let him breathe again…and another to catch up on all the breathing he'd missed out on for a few seconds there…

Then just one more moment to writhe in anguish a little more over how impossibly _hard _that guy had hit him…

Then, _finally_, he was scooting weakly back a bit…expecting to be scooting back on his butt in a desperate bid to get away from the monstrous armored maybe-Vulcan that was about to beat him to death.

But the guy was stuck.

Alice had the doors slammed firmly shut on the primary life support housing on his back. That backpack looking thing that housed all the…

Damned if the guy wasn't _stuck _there, with the doors to either side _whining _at all the power Alice was putting into it.

He wanted to stare and gawk at that a bit. Because…yeah, one of those things you don't see everyday. Something you'd want to tell your grandkids about someday. So you'd want to take a real good look so you could describe it properly to them.

But T'Pol…

He jerked his attention there, trusting the big armored hulk of back-breaking power stuck in the doorway would be kind enough to _stay _stuck for just a second…

T'Pol was somehow on top of the guy she was wrestling now. On top of him, stabbing him in the face with the blade she'd apparently taken away from him. Until she stabbed right through the faceplate and…well, into the guy's _face_.

Again. You don't see that sort of thing everyday.

Grandkids were gonna _love _hearing _that _story.

He saw the guy drive a hand into her chest, trying to push her off. Screaming his head off, trying to push her away…

But he had something in his hand.

And Trip just knew whatever that thing was, it was very bad. It was something he did not want there.

T'Pol snatched the knife out of the guy's face…and out of the faceplate…before Trip could stagger to his feet again. And she'd slung the knife off behind her somewhere before he'd regained his balance enough to try taking a step in that direction.

And she grabbed the guy's wrist, at her chest. Grabbed and twisted, bringing her other hand into play.

She had that arm twisted off in an ungodly weird angle by the time he did manage to stagger in her direction. Just one step, because that's when he saw she'd taken that thing away from him.

A grenade of some kind. He didn't exactly recognize it right off, but that was obviously what it was.

He yelled then. Yelled her name. Because he just knew he was about to see the worst thing he could possibly imagine seeing.

That grenade going off in T'Pol's hand. Going off right at her chest, because that's where she had it.

That didn't happen, though.

Instead…she smirked fiercely. Kind of…insanely.

And she shoved that grenade right into the big hole she'd punched in the guy's faceplate.

Then simply rolled off of him. Rolled right on over to land at Trip's feet, where he was already falling to his knees to snatch her up to him. Holding her desperately, as they both stared back at the guy on the floor over there.

He managed to fumble crazily at his face for a second before he got a hand in there. Or almost anyway. He got a finger or two in there before the thing went off and a three foot high gout of dark red flame burst out of the guy's helmet. And kept right on bursting out. For a good, long while.

Trip stared. And he _did _gawk this time.

Because, again…

…you don't see _that _every day.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Vahklas  
><strong>__**Peskel **_**Class Civilian Transport  
><strong>**Brig, Deck B**

As far as Trip and T'Pol were aware, the _Tempest _was under siege somewhere out there beyond the brig. Out there beyond a whole ship full of guys just like these two.

Trip's vague awareness that Alice had been trying to report to him and get his attention at least managed to worm the idea into his head that the _Tempest _must be holding her own in a major way. Enough that Alice was able to hack the _Vahklas' _computer systems to one degree or another.

But they really had no idea what was going on between here and there. Just the vague idea that a lot of deadly armed conflict must be going on somewhere between the brig and the safety and security of the _Tempest _that they hoped for.

And that they had to get through it…_all the way _through it…by themselves if they were going to have any hope of getting out of this alive.

Assuming there was any such hope.

The first and most immediate step in that being to get the hell out of _here_. Get out and get on the move before the entire crew complement of the _Vahklas _was brought to bear against them. Whoever was watching from the bridge or the security department, or both more likely, had to be scrambling a team or two to come deal with the escape attempt taking place in the brig right now.

So they were motivated by every bit of that desperate realization. Taking steps to get out of the brig, find the weapons locker outside, arm themselves and begin the long, bloody process of fighting their way through and back home to the _Tempest_.

The first step in that plan being to get past that son of a bitch in the doorway.

He was still armored, if not armed, and T'Pol was hurt pretty bad. Enough that she almost stumbled, taking another step back to execute a third vicious side kick into the guy's chest. Keeping him stuck in the doorway, even as he focused all of his own efforts into wiggling and pulling his way free again.

Kicking out, striking hard, undoing that quarter centimeter he'd just gained with all his struggling.

D'Llran knew as well as T'Pol and Trip knew…if he could get free of the door, they were dead. The Vulcan couldn't take him hand to hand in her condition and the Human didn't pose much of a threat to begin with. Even if she dropped back and grabbed the knife she'd thrown down, he had one of his own and that would give him time to get free to use it.

He was armored. They were not. T'Pol was badly injured and the Human was…Human. He would kill them both.

If he could just manage to tear himself free of the door before the Human figured out how to fire the disruptor rifle he was tinkering with.

T'Pol staggered, barely managing to keep her feet, bleeding from the wound at her shoulder. Holding on, taking a measured step to send another kick into the Romulan's chest to keep him in place. Because she knew the situation as well as D'Llran did.

She couldn't take another armored Romulan soldier hand to hand. Not even with Trip's help, considering how weak she already was. They would both die if this man got free. So she had to keep him stuck there until Trip finished whatever he was doing behind her with that Romulan rifle he'd picked up.

Trip knew everything they knew. He knew T'Pol couldn't keep that guy stuck forever. She was just a kick or two away from being too weak to kick anymore. Not with enough force to keep the guy in place anyway.

Maybe too weak even to stand on her own.

Trip wasn't injured, beyond a nasty lump and bruise on his back. But he also wasn't as physically strong as a Vulcan or a Romulan. He was only Human.

On the other hand…he was also a Human _engineer_. And a very good one at that.

So he'd already snatched up that disruptor rifle D'Llran had dropped and fired it at him a couple of times…enough to verify the thing wasn't going to cut through his armored EVA suit quickly enough to get them out of here before backup arrived…

He'd figured right off the bat that he was looking at some kind of dispersive armor. That made sense to him. If he was going to armor an EVA suit, that's what he'd use. But it was ablative, which would have been perfect since he need only land a shot in roughly the same spot two or three times to burn through…

Except whatever weird kind of energy rifle this was…it apparently wasn't designed to deal with armor so much. It was designed with unprotected targets in mind. Utilizing some kind of disruptive effect maybe, exciting molecules in the area of effect to the point that it broke the bonds that held the atoms together…

And so ablative armor was perfect for this kind of weapon. And that meant he was looking at having to just stand there shooting this guy about ten or even fifteen times before he could burn through enough to even hurt him…

And T'Pol was going to have to jump in there every second shot or so to kick him back into the door so he could do that…

So maybe half a minute, if they coordinated this thing just perfectly. Which they weren't going to be able to do…

It just plain wasn't going to happen. Not before the guy got free. Simple as that.

But that hadn't slowed Trip down all that much. He figured all that out with the second quick shot at the guy.

So he went straight to Plan B.

That was why T'Pol was putting the last of her strength into slamming D'Llran back into the doors whenever he threatened to get loose. Buying him time to over-tune the hell out of that disruptor rifle. To _make _it punch through that armor.

The quick and dirty…and very, very dangerous…method of doing that being simply to figure out how to overload the thing and then wait until just precisely before it exploded to fire every bit of that power that he could get in one shot.

Didn't matter if he mistimed it and the thing exploded, really. Because if they didn't get past this guy quick…get past him _now_…they were probably dead anyway. They just had to take their chances.

So he didn't even bother slapping the cover back on the thing. He just yelled at T'Pol when it started whining and the little green indicator light began flashing, insisting something extremely bad was happening inside the rifle that everyone in the immediate vicinity should probably start running away from.

And he brought it up, one-handed, taking aim at the guy as T'Pol dived to one side out of the way…

And he waited, holding his aim as the guy started struggling all the more desperately, realizing what was going on here and how dead he was going to be if he didn't get free in time to stop it.

Waited as long as he dared to wait, letting the power build. Holding it out away from him to the side, one-handed. Waiting, holding it out, taking careful aim…

Because he had just one shot here before the thing would be rendered useless. Just one shot. So he needed every bit of power he could get in that one shot.

And he got it. Because he was a pretty damned good Human engineer.

Got it in spades.

The shot snapped the air aside as it discharged, lighting up the brig like a bolt of lightning. Cutting not only through the guy's armor but burning right on through and into the room beyond.

The rifle exploding in the process.

Because maybe he'd waited just a split second too long.

* * *

><p>Song and Roscoe were having a hell of a time just getting down that damned thirty meter section of corridor. There were hasty barricades thrown together all down the length of it, no less than four of them. Big clumsy piles of furnishings, computer consoles, mattresses, clothing, debris…even a few bodies. Sections of carpeting ripped up and tossed over the fourth one even, apparently just to make the damned thing all the more precarious to scramble over.<p>

They scrambled and they climbed and they threw themselves over those barricades. They slipped and fell and tumbled past them, rolling to the floor on the opposite side amidst a mini-avalanche of trash and clutter.

Finally making it to the main doors to the brig, sporting bruises and even cuts from having so inelegantly negotiated that obstacle course.

And the irony wasn't lost on Song, in that Roscoe suffered greater injury from just getting himself down that thirty meter section than he had during the entire boarding action, fighting his way along with the rest of them against the whole crew of the _Vahklas_.

But they reached the doors to the brig as quickly as they could. Because those last two Vulcan crewmen were on the other side, as were the Captain and Commander T'Pol. And they were all in the same cell together in there.

Which meant the Vulcans had decided either to try to hold them hostage directly or kill them outright. No longer guarding the approach to the brig but going in there to take them in hand.

From what Song had seen from these lunatics so far…she doubted they were going in there just to take them hostage. She had a pretty good idea what they were up to and it involved less hostage taking and more violently expressing just how displeased they were over the Humans having utterly ravaged their ship and slaughtered the crew.

They were going to kill the Captain, and T'Pol right along with him.

So bruises, cuts and thirty meters of trash and debris be damned, they got to the doors of the brig as fast as they possibly could and began burning through that thing with their weapons the second it came into sight.

Benning had seen enough to have come to precisely the same conclusion that Song had. So he, Downing and Harrison hauled ass with just as much determination as they did. They'd suffered too much already assaulting this ship and the prospect of losing the Captain, which had been the whole damned point of the exercise to begin with, was beyond intolerable. It was unthinkable and flat out wasn't going to be allowed to happen.

He hit the barricades just a minute after Song cleared the last hurdle. Started scrambling over the things just as she and Roscoe began blasting at the doors down there in earnest. Had his small team in, over and beyond the thirty meter long section of scattered trash and dead bodies to fall in with her by the time she'd burned through a third of the doorframe.

And he began making a half-assed organized exercise of blasting through those doors, combining their firepower just so and precisely, in order to shave a couple of seconds off getting _through_.

They burned their way through pretty quick. And if he'd had his head together enough to realize such things, he might have been impressed with just how quickly they'd managed that. Maybe taken a few mental notes about the little things they'd done on the fly to shave a second or two off getting those doors thrown down.

But they were down, the edges smoking and spitting a little where the hot duranium hit the bare gravity plating comprising the floor.

And they were through, moving into the brig. MACO particle rifles shouldered and Starfleet phase pistols readied. Moving as a unit again, clearing all the angles, covering and advancing quickly forward to the brig itself.

Barely able to see through the smoke and dim red lighting, taking extra special care with their targets. Because the Captain and T'Pol were in here somewhere…just beyond that open doorway there, according to the quick glance at the PADD on his wrist…

A second quick glance confirming…there was no one else in there with them.

No one alive, anyway.

Hence Benning surprising everyone else on the team by breaking ranks, dashing on ahead through that doorway. Forcing them to scramble and catch up in order to try to cover him, because he'd broken protocol and done exactly the one thing he'd have had a screaming fit if any of _them _had done during simulations training.

Benning found them there in the middle of the brig, just outside the cell. He shoved aside the remains of the desk almost blocking the doorway, stepped over the smoking corpse what actually _was _blocking the doorway and found them there.

T'Pol sitting on the floor, holding the limp, seemingly lifeless body of the Captain close to her.

Sparing Benning one strikingly emotional look when he entered the room…before returning her full attention to the Captain again. A look that literally shook him to the core, being so entirely out of character for her.

But he saw instantly why she'd looked at him that way, once he looked at the Captain himself. Once he was able to look and see what had happened to him.

"_I have successfully eliminated the last of the hostiles aboard the ship, Keyla, and I am prepared to begin organizing the recovery of lost and wounded Tempest personnel. Protocol suggests advising Doctor Andrews to grant Captain Tucker first consideration in triage, but I am uncertain if my interpretation is correct. Would you agree with that interpretation?"_

Song didn't answer for a moment.

Which…Benning figured he could understand perfectly well. He was more than a little stunned by what he was seeing himself.

T'Pol held the Captain close to her, almost as if she were grieving his death. He wasn't dead, just unconscious. Benning could clearly see his chest rise and fall…

But T'Pol was holding the Captain's arm, too. Out away from his body a little. And that was the stunning part. His entire forearm from elbow to wrist was…ravaged.

And the damage ended there, at the wrist.

Because his right hand was gone.

It was just…gone.

Song was already swooping in with a medkit, cover flipped over to make use of the rather inadequate field scanner. Which was why she hadn't answered right away, apparently.

She scanned him quickly and calmly. And here at least was one situation where Benning was glad for Song's little moments of being ruthlessly cold and detached, like she occasionally had a habit of being.

"No, Alice." Song said, then. "The Captain's stable for now. Tell Crowley to get his team moving double time. You coordinate with him. Get our wounded to Andrews as fast as you can. We're bringing the Captain ourselves."

"_Understood, Keyla. Lieutenant Crowley and the recovery team are on the move. I will update you as required. Please evacuate the Captain to the airlock so that he can receive medical intervention."_

"Benning." Song said, a little sharply. "Snap out of it. Let's get them the hell out of here."

And they did. Benning and Harrison moving to take the Captain…finding T'Pol suddenly recovered, on her feet before they could.

She picked the Captain up herself, carefully and with no little reverence. Bringing him to her chest to carry comfortably. His weight apparently being not at all unmanageable for a Vulcan.

"Lead the way." She said, tightly. "Clear a path. I'll carry him."

She nearly made it to the airlock with him. Benning, Song and Roscoe leading the way, weapons ready, daring anything to stand in their path. Harrison and Downing heading off to watch over Tanner until the recovery team could get to him.

She nearly made it all the way before she stumbled to one knee, almost dropping the Captain to the floor. And even then it took a moment for Song to convince her to turn him over to them. She had to cite the fact that they were _wasting time _talking about it before she finally let him go. The logic there being inarguable.

She wouldn't let anyone else support _her _though. Wouldn't allow Song to address her injury, despite the blood still oozing from the wound and having lost enough of it already that she was noticeably pale.

She made it to the airlock, watching over the transfer. Made it until the Captain was assessed, transferred to a pallet on the floor and pronounced stable enough that Andrews could turn his attention back to Tanner. Made it until it was clear that T'Lea would be next on the list, as she'd since passed out herself and was in some imminent danger.

She tried to hold on and she achieved some measure of success in that. But she wasn't able to hold on long enough that he would be treated before she was.

She passed out, there in the airlock. Sitting there at his side, watching over him. And she ended up third on the list, behind T'Lea and ahead of the Captain, despite her best efforts.

* * *

><p>The <em>Tempest <em>eventually broke dock with the _Vahklas_. Broke free, leaving her to drift on her own.

And she drifted herself for a while, until Shran accepted the fact that she was effectively in command here. Benning was the highest ranking officer not being treated in sickbay and he hadn't showed up to relieve her or communicate any orders at all.

Shran kept a close eye on things from the command console. And she waited until everyone was clear of the _Vahklas_. Until all the _Tempest's _crew was back home, even the dead. Until they'd all been relocated to sickbay and Andrews was hard at work in there, doing what he could.

Waited until she got the report from him, counting the cost for having retrieved their captured crewman and eliminated the _Vahklas _as a threat.

Jennings was gone, having thrown himself on a grenade to spare the rest of his team. Hastings was gone, taking a hit to the chest while holding point for his team to fall back.

Tulok was gone, shot by the Captain of the _Vahklas_. And Hess was gone, the first casualty, when she attempted to avenge the one Vulcan on the ship who'd tried to warn them.

Song, shot in the shoulder, waiting to be treated in sickbay. T'Pol unconscious from blood loss and a nasty knife wound. T'Lea undergoing surgery for the second time, after having taken Jennings' belt buckle in the back from that grenade blast. Tanner shot in the leg, at risk of losing it had Andrews not seen to that just exactly when he had.

The Captain unconscious, with a mild facial fracture and his right hand blown completely off by an overloaded energy rifle.

The cost was high. But the fact remained that there currently wasn't a single Vulcan left alive on the _Vahklas _at the moment. And even those dozen or two they'd managed to capture had all killed themselves with some kind of implanted poison capsule. Dropping dead one after another in the main corridor on Deck B, where they sat bound and cuffed. With everyone too busy to even notice at first, much less do anything about it.

So Shran counted the cost. And it was high. But she was Andorian and found the victory they'd secured at that price to be more than adequate.

They hadn't just won the fight, they'd utterly annihilated the enemy.

She was damned near bursting with pride and fierce affirmation. Because maybe she had gotten too close to this crew for her own good, but they'd proven themselves well worth the love and loyalty she had for them.

This settled a few issues for her. It put things into a much different perspective.

So while practically all of the rest of the _Tempest's _crew grieved and hurt from what they'd suffered, she was well centered and entirely sure of her course. She was proud, determined and strong again, in a way she had not been for quite some time.

Ready to whip the bridge crew currently hanging their heads and grieving…ready to whip them into shape. Get them focused on their duties again.

She had the Vulcan shuttle in the cargo bay prepped and in place. Checked, cleared and secured. The engineering gear properly reorganized and put back into storage where it belonged. Alice offline and busily recovering from all her hard work. The bodies of the Vulcans they'd captured stored in the cargo bay as well, until the Captain could determine what to do with them. Which he would, once he made his recovery. That not even being a question.

Everyone not currently dead or wounded was rapidly redirected back on task. Put back to work, preparing the ship to resume her mission. Those most in need of rest ordered to do that with precisely no room for argument. The rest scheduled for a break themselves, as soon as that was possible.

When Benning finally arrived on the bridge to put all that in motion himself, he found it already done. And more besides. So that he had no argument to offer against being redirected right back to his own quarters to get some rest. Not having the strength to pull rank on the Andorian after all that he'd been through, he was forced to do exactly that.

Shran stood tall at the chair. And she was indeed proud, strong and sure.

The _Tempest _would recover shortly, and then she would be back on mission. And when they found that Romulan fleet, they would do to them just as they'd done to the _Vahklas_.

* * *

><p>Andrews hit the sterilizer again, washing away the blood and excised tissue. Another long hour spent patching together all the torn bits of what had originally been a vibrant and perfectly healthy young Vulcan girl's thoracic cavity. And all the varied contents thereof.<p>

Or relatively young. According to records she was pushing fifty. Still made her barely an adult by Vulcan standards but there you go anyway.

But he'd been intensely worried at first over just how much blood the two Vulcans had lost, before finally catching on how that wasn't as big a concern as he'd naturally assumed it was.

He had synthetic plasma aplenty, thankfully. But that was almost contraindicated for Vulcans, being designed with Humans in mind as it was. Almost but not quite contraindicated. Just definitely _not _the first choice in this kind of situation.

But Vulcan volunteers lined up to donate blood…? No, they didn't exactly have any of those.

Hell, their prisoners were all already dead by the time he was ready to get security to knock some heads together and get one of _them _to "volunteer".

So that had been a critical concern at first. And for a while after that.

He reflected on the matter as the sterilizer went to work on his hands and arms. Thinking about how the Vulcan respiratory system was complete crap at filtering out contaminants and particulates, coming from such a thin atmosphere as they did. It was almost _painfully _inadequate in comparison to the Human norm he was accustomed to. Earth's atmosphere was pretty starkly dense by contrast, full of all sorts of nasty things on top of that, and so the Human system had to be supremely good at that sort of thing.

But that actually worked to his Vulcan patient's advantage here, what with the other part of that equation coming into play. The planet Vulcan had a pretty low oxygen content and Vulcans were amazingly well adapted to that. And they didn't have the convoluted and redundant filtration system that the Human body had getting in the way of that. So despite having lost enough blood to render a Human counterpart long since dead or brain damaged, both of them were still going strong. It hadn't taken more than a quick dose of triox to get their blood oxygen levels right where he wanted them. Even with so little blood to carry that oxygen and that infuriating Vulcan lack of blood pressure to move it along.

And copper to bind oxygen…? No, that probably wouldn't have been his first choice. And yet still…

It was actually kind of amazing. From what he was seeing everything he'd heard about Vulcans was true. It really did take a hell of a lot to kill them.

If he'd known better what exactly he was dealing with here, he probably would have bumped the Captain up ahead of them both. Slapped a shot of triox on each of them and got right to work on him. Even T'Lea could have probably kept for a few hours more without needing direct surgical intervention.

All of it was entirely his fault. He couldn't blame anyone else. The second those three had been assigned to this ship he'd pulled up all the necessary refresher courses and detailed medical data, just in case. He just hadn't gotten around to anything more than a cursory review of the material.

But what was done was done, and he was ready to address the Captain's injuries in earnest. So he put off castigating himself yet again to go and do that.

That shook him up a bit. The facial fracture was doing fine…in fact, if he hadn't known better, he would have said that must have occurred days ago. There wasn't much to do there but slap a medpad on it and let it soak that up.

The arm, though…he couldn't imagine how proximal exposure to a phased energy weapon overcharging and exploding would do _that _to a person's flesh. There should have been a lot more burn damage and displacement from concussive force. But it was only charred a little, with the vast majority of damage being…almost some kind of disintegration. There was a certain percentage of the Captain's flesh and bone all along that whole forearm that was just plain _liquefied_.

It took nearly another hour flushing all that out, which left the whole area looking horribly withered when he was done. Another hour after that flooding the limb with regenerators and pumping it full of a homemade mix of just about everything he had in store.

A little patching, a little grafting. A few well placed synthetic overlays and bonding here and there. Some nerve work. Bone reinforcement, which was always challenging.

Three more hours and everything that could be done with that was done.

As for the hand…there was nothing that _could _be done. It was gone. Presumably a puddle of goo somewhere back on the _Vahklas_. Hell, likely vaporized entirely.

There were cybernetic prosthetics available and they were top notch. No one would ever know the difference. Even the Captain would find it easy to forget he'd ever lost the hand, given a few months to get used to it.

There just wasn't anything like that available _here_…

A quick, startled thought and a moment's reconsideration…and Andrews went right back to the Captain's recovery bed. Adjusting things there to make sure he stayed _under _a little while longer_, _once he'd otherwise recovered enough to wake up.

He couldn't claim to know Trip as well as some, having only worked with him for less than a year now. But he knew him well enough all the same. And it had suddenly occurred to him how not at all unexpected it would be for the Captain to come around early. And to zoom through the grieving process associated with losing a limb a lot quicker than one might expect a person to.

And probably sneak out of sickbay the moment Andrews turned his back to head for engineering. Maybe fashion himself a gnarly pirate's hook out of something down there before turning right around and getting straight back to work.

Andrews caught himself snickering at _that _mental image.

Captain Tucker, on the bridge. With an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. Menacing the bridge staff with a shiny metal hook.

_Arr…back to work afore I shiver yer booty…_

Or whatever pirates say…

And okay, yes. He was clearly getting punchy here. Hadn't exactly had a lot of sleep in the last couple of days.

Which...only brought to mind the main reason he'd lost the majority of that sleep.

The second body bag to the right, along the wall near the sickbay entrance. Commander Hess, who laughed at bad jokes and thought horror movies were stupid. Who hadn't even thought for a second that he was coming on to her when he went on and on about what great shape she was in. And he really hadn't been coming on to her or anything, he actually _had _been surprised and impressed. He just really was that much of an idiot sometimes.

She'd gone a little gaga when he'd pulled his shirt up to show off for her. Clearly didn't think he'd noticed, though it had been perfectly obvious. She'd powered right on through that anyway. And thank goodness, since that was just him being an idiot again.

They'd really connected, kind of. He'd forgotten after the first ten seconds that he was talking to a big, whirling blur the whole night. And then she'd just suddenly snapped into focus and…good God, she'd been gorgeous. And very, very well toned.

And he didn't know her first name, though. Even now, after…

She was just Commander Hess. Bad jokes, horror movies, well toned calf muscles. Which should have been enough, maybe.

But he was still staring at the body bag. Trying not to go over there and look at the tag. Because that was just somehow completely, morbidly crazy…

"Doc."

Andrews drew a quick, unbalanced breath at that. And, yes, he'd gone off into kookoo land for a second there.

Commander Song, laying on her side on the recovery bed right beside him. He'd forgotten where he was standing.

"Keyla," He said, more than a little glad to have a first name to go by there at least. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Been awake." Song said, flatly. "No sleep."

Song was…staring a little blankly at the wall…eyes a little glazed.

Right. She was way past overdue for some sleep herself.

He turned his attention there swiftly, to try to put her at ease and get her to sleep. The sedatives he'd already spray her with apparently weren't getting the job done.

"I've debrided the worst of it, Keyla." He said, gently. "Electrolytes, antibiotic treatment, temporary graft. It's all done, you're going to be just fine. Get some sleep and let the medication do its work. I'll be here, watching over you. You're safe now."

Song nodded slightly.

"'Kay." She said, vaguely. "Where's Tulok?"

Andrews hesitated. There was obvious decreased cognitive function going on there. Too little sleep and too much trauma, all in far too short a period of time.

He wasn't sure if she understood at the moment…

"He's here, Keyla." He said. And left it at that.

Her hand came out from under her chin, where she lay on her side, keeping her weight off the wounded shoulder. Came out to wrap itself gently around his wrist.

"Take care of him." She said.

Andrews nodded, placing his hand gently over hers.

"I will." He assured her. "Get some sleep, Commander."

She nodded vaguely again at that. And withdrew the hand to tuck it back under her chin.

And she was out in moments.

He stood there, watching her sleep for a little while. Not too long and not to the detriment of his other duties. But he had to watch that for a while.

Then he pulled the blanket she'd let fall from her shoulders back up to where it belonged. Tucked it in a bit so it'd stay there if she shifted in her sleep. Rechecked the comfortable foam support at her lower back, to be sure it'd keep her from rolling onto her back in her sleep.

And made his way on over to Commander T'Pol. Checking her vitals with a critical eye before hitting the sterilizer again, so he could take a second look at that chest wound.


	51. Chapter 51

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Sickbay, Deck B**

Andrews kept Tucker under for four days. Kept him under until after the temporary bonds had all dissolved, allowing the hastened healing of the capillaries to reach a point where they were more or less set. Nerves regenerated enough where pain would at least be manageable. Muscles stimulated into shape again. Bone density recovered to the extent that was possible, with artificial bonding filling in the rest.

Then another full day, having found himself in the unusual position of arguing _for _waking a patient up, rather than the other way around. As would be the case at any other time.

The acting Captain, Commander Song, not seeing the wisdom of allowing Tucker to be awake and conscious…and capable of ordering everyone to shut up and fetch him his duty uniform…before that was absolutely necessary. Absolutely unavoidable being the preference there.

He wasn't very happy about it but he'd finally had to cave and let Song have her way. Allowing one more day before Captain Tucker would be allowed to wake. And that day was today.

Everything keeping him comfortably under was terminated at precisely 0600. So it was just a matter of waiting until the Captain's famous sixth sense about when it was time to wake up and go to work finally kicked in.

T'Pol waited patiently, sitting at his side as she had for two of those total four days. Without such authority as to arrange for being released back to duty herself, as she might prefer, there was little else for her to do. So sitting vigil, sneaking an occasional few moments stimulating his nervous system and helping him heal, was the perfectly logical thing to do.

Sneaking those moments on the sly, when Doctor Andrews wasn't looking. Because he was unfamiliar with the discipline and didn't trust it. It made him nervous and he tended to be hypercritical, hypervigilant and…nosy. He insisted on standing there watching and monitoring whenever he caught her doing it.

And so she was forced to do it when he was unaware just to snatch what little privacy the situation allowed. It wasn't at all proper to stand there _watching _like that.

So she was awake and alert, her own wound already healed enough that it intruded upon her attentions not at all. As long as she did nothing too strenuous that it might be tempted to object it was easily ignored.

She was awake and alert, and quite able to overhear Lieutenant Shran come to visit Tanner and T'Lea. Eavesdropping on those interactions, entirely despite herself. And entirely despite being well aware that doing so constituted exactly the same violation of privacy she so diligently snuck around Doctor Andrews to avoid.

She couldn't help it so much, though, as it offered a ready foreshadowing of the interaction she patiently waited to participate in with Trip when he finally awoke.

Shran approached Tanner's bed first, as that was her duty as a command officer. And Shran being Shran, she was all about putting work and duty first. As T'Pol was only just beginning to become aware, visiting with T'Lea would constitute a personal visit.

She approached Tanner's bed and Tanner immediately stiffened up. Just a bit and noticeably. Because he still hadn't quite adjusted to the new and improved Lieutenant Shran.

"Tanner." Talla said, coming comfortably alongside…even as Tanner put his hands immediately to either side, against the pliable covering of the bed.

Prepared to push up and off the moment that was required. To jump up off the bed and…do whatever it was he was prepared to do. Stand at attention and salute, maybe. Run away and hide, perhaps. Or probably just limp briskly off back to work, begging pardon for having delayed that for far too long…

"Ma'am." He nodded, warily.

"I see your leg hasn't fallen off." Shran said, with a bit of grin. "I've been thinking about getting shot myself, so _I _can take a little vacation. It seems to be the latest trend and the doctor's cute enough. What do you think?"

"I…can't say I recommend it, ma'am." Tanner said, uncertainly.

Shran shrugged, amused. "Then I guess I'll stick with my current plan. Running around behind you Humans, fixing everything you screw up until I get that mandatory sabbatical for exhaustion. Speaking of which…I need you in Engineering screwing things up so I can get back to that. Doctor tells me you've got another couple of days, though."

"Yes, ma'am." Tanner nodded. "But I can probably…there's a brace I can wear but…I might have a little trouble…"

"Don't worry about it." Shran smiled, waving that off. "Believe it or not we actually haven't gotten in a fight the whole time you've been lounging around in here. If I knew that's how it would be I would have shot you myself and saved us all a lot of work."

"Well…yes, ma'am." Tanner said.

Shran grinned at that. Because that was cute.

And she put a hand affectionately on his unwounded leg for a moment. With a nice, short pat and rub to help put him at ease.

"Get your rest while you can, Tanner." She said. "I'll get you back in shape, don't worry. Let us know if you need anything and we'll get it right to you. And, by the way, you can expect Ensign James to drop by to spend a little while moaning about how hard I'm working him, to make up for you having taken over his bed in sickbay. You might want to prepare yourself for that."

"Yes, ma'am." Tanner said, a little more easily.

And he actually had relaxed a little. Almost accepting he wasn't going to get snapped at here.

Shran snorted, still smiling comfortably.

"Alright." She nodded. "I'll send Crowley around after Beta with some ops you'll need to go over. I'll drop in again myself tomorrow, if nothing explodes or catches fire. But since I just said that it probably will, so it might be the day after."

Another light, affectionate pat. A quick, easy smile. And she was casually off and away, leaving him uncomfortably comfortable. Simultaneously put at ease and on edge, as no small part of him expected she'd remember she hadn't snapped at him and turn suddenly right back around to do that.

He was left to eventually just accept the short visit was over. And wonder at how he'd almost rather she _had _stomped in here and snarled at him.

_This _actually made him more nervous somehow.

T'Lea watched the entire interaction from her own recovery bed, just two beds down from Tanner. Shran's easy conversation and even seeming detachment was noteworthy, presenting a significant departure from practically all her interactions with the crew so far.

So when Shran came to stand beside her bed, she was curious already. And as Shran opened her mouth to speak, T'Lea was already questioning her.

"What has changed?" She asked. "You engage easily, disengage without difficulty and show surprising comfort interacting with the crew. All without any notable hostility."

Shran just sort of stood there for a second. Mouth still open, ready to say, 'Hello, T'Lea…'

Because the girl was laying there, nearly as pale as an Aenar. Only barely conscious, at least by Human standards. Gravely wounded, only just beginning anything that could be called a recovery.

She was just plain laying there looking like crap, in other words. Otherwise and generally looking exactly as you'd expect a person to look who'd undergone two major surgeries almost back to back. Whatever the inherent pun in that.

So Shran frowned. For the first time since entering sickbay.

"You didn't even give me a chance to say 'Hello', T'Lea." She complained.

But T'Lea was just laying there waiting. Patiently staring at her, waiting for her to answer the question…

Shran huffed.

"Fine, then." She said. "I used all your lying tricks. I guess they worked a little. And the crew's worth all the trouble so…I adapted to things. I _told _you I'd get over it."

T'Lea considered that, eyes assessing her critically.

"You are having no significant difficulty with establishing and maintaining relationship boundaries?"

Shran shrugged. "Not really. Still probably too close to these pinkskins for my own good, but it's not really a _problem_."

"Do you think you will be able to join another quad when the time comes?"

Shran sighed a little. But she wasn't quite frowning anymore.

She leaned forward instead, draping her arms over the rails of T'Lea's bed. To look down on her and speak directly to her.

"Maybe." She said clearly. "Not that I'm interested."

"You should." T'Lea immediately argued. "It is the logical next step…"

"I'm not Vulcan." Shran insisted. "We don't just jump into that sort of thing."

"Nor do we."

"Yes, you do. You have arranged marriages when you're little children even…"

"That does not constitute 'jumping into…'"

"And if your mate…or fiancé or betrothed or whatever you call him…if he died tomorrow, you just go find another one the next day, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. That is the logical…"

"We don't do that." Shran said, firmly.

T'Lea's brow actually tightened a little.

So Shran figured the doctor must have her on some heavy duty narcotics, seeing as how she was practically getting _emotional _over here.

Which was actually a little funny.

So Shran smirked then.

"Although…if you've changed your _mind_…" She smirked, suggestively.

T'Lea's brow tightened more.

"I am already promised." She said. "Nor do I find a relationship of that sort with an Andorian shen especially appealing."

"You don't find a relationship of that sort with _anyone _appealing." Shran pointed out. "Because you're Vulcan and you haven't had one yet. And you may be promised but you're still not technically…"

"No." T'Lea said. "And you are testing the boundaries of our relationship again."

"Because you're so pretty." Shran said.

And continued on quickly before T'Lea could respond.

"And if you're so set on my finding another quad…you know, I hear Benning's available. He'd make a _very _nice thaan for us. Think about _that _for a moment…"

"Vulcans do not take multiple partners." T'Lea said, firmly.

"And if we move quick, we might have a shot at Tucker. I think your Commander might be marking territory there already but he'd be a _perfect _chan. Might be worth the fight."

"That would be very ill advised."

"I'm not so sure." Shran said, considering that. "Once you get healed up a little more, I bet we could take her."

T'Lea eyed her speculatively then. Her eyes a little glazed from whatever the doctor had her on…so it took a bit of obvious effort…

"You are being facetious." T'Lea decided, at last.

"Of course I am." Shran grinned. "I'm in a good mood today, you silly _klahz_. And you really are cute when you're drugged like that. I think your eyes almost crossed once…"

"You should take the matter more seriously. It is an important issue for your continued emotional health."

"Then you'll just have to rest, get your strength back and _make _me, Subaltern T'Lea." Shran smirked. "Today I'm just in a good mood and there's nothing you can do about it."

T'Lea actually frowned a little.

So, yes. She was on some very impressive pain medication apparently.

"I'm glad you're awake and you're looking so well." Shran said, more seriously now. And more softly. "Get some rest, Subaltern. I'll check in on you again later."

And before T'Lea could object, or even think to, Shran had reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Affectionately, if not at all appropriately. But it was an otherwise benign gesture, so T'Lea was unable to justify being especially offended.

"If you need anything, just let me know and I'll make it happen." Shran said, already pushing away from the bed to depart. "Now get some sleep. As for me, I'm heading to the Mess Hall for some _katheka_. Maybe I'll eat a piece of cake and smile at people until they get nervous."

And she was off and away again, detaching as easily from her as she had from Tanner. So that remained encouraging to see.

T'Lea watched her leave sickbay, pondering all the while whether it had been wise to pursue anything beyond a working relationship with the Andorian. Establishing an actual 'friendship' had seemed like the intuitively spontaneous thing to do, considering the circumstances at the time.

She'd barely managed to evoke any sense of order out of the thing, though. If she could just get the stubborn shen to acknowledge the logic of pursuing and claiming another quad, at least all her hard work would be perfectly justified. As it was it remained…challenging.

As she watched Shran depart, she found Commander T'Pol watching her in turn, from her chair near the Captain's bed. And her eyebrow clearly communicated her curiosity at what she'd just witnessed.

So T'Lea found herself grateful that at least someone might understand and commiserate with her regarding the inherent difficulties of maintaining these sorts of relationships.

"These people are very difficult to manage." She said, looking back at T'Pol.

T'Pol considered that, eyebrow still at attention.

And she soon tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement of the fact. Because, yes, relationships of that sort did indeed prove difficult to manage. As did the people themselves. One in particular…

That of course brought her attention back to Trip, where he lay on the recovery bed at her side.

And she found that he'd apparently woke sometime while her attention had wandered away to witness Lieutenant Shran's interactions with the others.

He was awake and watching her.

Still somewhat hazy and not entirely lucid…but he was focused on her nevertheless, catching her eye comfortably when she looked back to him.

He…gazed at her, in fact. An odd mixture of wonder, fascination and admiration.

She found she wasn't entirely sure how to feel about being looked at that way.

And all the more…surprised at the thought that immediately crossed her mind because of it.

That if they were bonded, she and Trip, then she wouldn't be in this situation. She'd have known he was awake the moment he had been. Would have known, in fact, that he was waking up long before he actually did. She wouldn't be suffering the uncomfortable feeling of being both surprised and deeply pleased.

Her hand almost reached out for him at that thought. Eager, apparently, to get right to work making that happen. Taking the first steps in the long process of building that bond.

She had to nearly dig her fingers into her knee to keep it from sneaking over there and doing that, in fact. Which was somewhat alarming.

Her alarm and concern…or perhaps merely her surprise…must have shown, though. Because…

"Sorry." Trip said, softly. "Haven't had a chance to really look at you before. I can't believe how beautiful you are."

T'Pol almost started twitching at that.

Very pleased, certainly, but…also entirely and quite suddenly unbalanced.

She had to say something to that, of course. It required a response.

She just…wasn't sure what…there didn't seem to be any…

"I understand." She said, awkwardly.

Trip grinned and chuckled at that. And T'Pol suppressed no small amount of embarrassment at her failure.

But Trip bridged the gap. Changing the subject to distract from that, knowing quite well enough the discomfort she experienced.

"So, I'm in a recovery bed and a beautiful woman is there watching over me when I wake up." He said. "I think I've had this dream before, except that's not a nurse's uniform you're wearing, Commander. And there's this…"

He raised his hand.

Or rather…raised the hand that wasn't there anymore. A thick lump of bandage and synthetic flesh marked the spot where it used to rest. Medicinal time-released dermals dotted the entire length of his bruised and mottled forearm now, making perfectly clear the damage that had been done…

He stared at that for a short moment.

"…and I guess you're gonna tell me I'm not dreaming." He said, vaguely. Still staring at his arm.

"Unfortunately, no." T'Pol acknowledged. "I understand this must be traumatic for you, Trip."

"Yeah, a bit."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Just…some really big guy in armor. I think I tackled him, so…I'm guessing he didn't take kindly to that and cut my hand off or something?"

T'Pol nodded. She had been prepared for this. The event had been quite traumatic, so it was not unexpected that his recollection of it might prove spotty at best. So she set about immediately filling in the blanks for him. And catching him up on everything else they'd been unaware of at the time in the process of that.

"You've been unconscious for four days." She said. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to know the _Tempest _suffered no damage during our altercation with the _Vahklas _or at any time in the interim. We are currently back on mission, with Commander Song assuming the chair in your absence. Additionally, we've managed to replace Shuttle One with a Vulcan shuttle we've claimed and Alice has adjusted well to her new operating status…"

Trip was still staring at his arm, though. Staring at the empty place where his hand used to be.

She wasn't sure if he'd heard anything she'd said at all.

"Trip?" She said, trying a more direct approach now.

He took a deep breath, forcing awareness back on the present with some effort.

"Yeah?" He asked. Then… "Sorry, having a little trouble wrapping my head around this…"

"It's only temporary." She assured him. "There are advanced prosthetics available. I reviewed some of the literature while you were asleep. I think you'll find it intriguing."

He nodded slightly. "Back at Proxima, you mean. Or Starfleet medical."

"Yes." She acknowledged.

"Might not make it back there."

T'Pol hesitated, aware of the thing Song insisted on reporting herself. The thing she hadn't mentioned yet because of that. It was rather a relevant point suddenly. Something she was sure he'd want to know right away, before anything else…

"How many did we lose?" He asked, solemnly.

She hesitated again, but…

"Four." She said.

Trip's brow immediately furrowed in confusion.

"Four what?" He asked.

"Four crewmen."

And now he was surprised.

"_Four?"_

"Yes, Trip." She said. "And five wounded, including yourself…"

"I can't believe we only lost _four." _He said, shocked. "How'd we manage _that?"_

T'Pol suddenly understood.

He'd expected _massive _casualties.

"Only four, Trip." She assured. "Due in large part to Alice overseeing the boarding action…"

"Wait…we raided _them?"_

"Indeed. Prompted by Commander Hess's death and our own capture…"

Trip huffed in frustration then.

"Okay, just…start at the beginning." He frowned. "What the hell happened between us getting caught and my hand suddenly disappearing."

She did. Starting at the beginning, relaying everything she'd learned while he was recovering. The assault on the _Vahklas _and the remarkable showing the crew had made of themselves in the process of that, which she knew he would be greatly relieved at.

Alice's very effective utilization of the security oversight protocols she now had access to, which had not only made the boarding action such a success but had essentially saved them all.

A tally of the lost and wounded, as well the circumstances of each. Trip grieving every one. Even offering apologies to her for Tulok, as if he were responsible himself.

Leading him through everything that had occurred while they were unaware, locked in the brig. Helping him accept it all and reach his understanding of it.

Eventually working her way around to the most relevant point to her personally. Once he had worked through his emotional reactions to everything up to the point.

But addressing that the moment it became appropriate to do so.

"Concerning my…our behavior in the brig." She said, hesitantly. "Considering the situation it was not at all surprising, once examined objectively. However, it remains…"

"Well, I think I got a crash course in that 'very little' that turns you on." Trip smirked. "The _vu-katra _thing. And it might be a good idea to tell me what that is."

T'Pol shifted uncomfortably.

And very obviously twitched a wary little glance over her shoulder.

So Trip cringed a bit himself, realizing immediately he'd not only just stepped all over her very Vulcan sense of privacy here…he'd practically jumped on it and done a little jig.

They were sitting in the middle of sickbay, for crying out loud.

"Sorry." He said, quietly. "But I'm guessing we're about to have that talk now."

T'Pol looked uncertain.

"Which talk?"

"The one where you lay down all the conditions under which that 'behavior in the brig' can ever be expected to happen again."

She considered that for a moment.

"Yes." She said, firmly.

And…okay. That was noteworthy. T'Pol didn't say much of anything without a whole lot of syllables thrown into the effort. A single word, and a monosyllabic word at that, was rare.

Which, in this case, quite obviously indicated she'd made a decision.

Period.

And, also, deal with it.

"Okay." He said. Because he'd been here before and he knew the ropes.

Step one. Agree completely to everything. Do so in an easy manner, if at all possible.

"Besides," He added, grinning ruefully and raising the stump where his right hand used to be. "This was my Vulcan kissing hand anyway."

"We'll adapt." T'Pol said, instantly. Presenting her left hand for consideration. Holding it up, index and middle finger locked. And he was more than a little amused how compelling he _already _found that gesture to be.

Because, yes, she'd apparently grieved that particular point already and was indeed prepared to work around that. Eager to, it would seem. If only up to that one particular line in the sand she had no intention of crossing again anytime soon.

Trip grinned.

"Okay, T'Pol." He said. "Consider me fully behind that idea, ready to give it the sum total of my support."

She nodded, accepting that.

So he offered his addendum. Step two.

"Right up until the point where you change your mind, in which case I'll be right behind _that _idea, giving _that _all my support. So you'd better be sure. Because I'm going to support the hell out of that idea."

T'Pol considered that.

And…swallowed a bit. And cleared her throat a little.

"Agreed." She said, once she was able to speak clearly.

So, okay then. Step three now. Where he laid down his _own _conditions here…

But Commander Song entered the sickbay before he could do that. And she made straight for him the second she cleared the threshold.

He put two and two together on that one quick enough, sparing Doctor Andrews a glance, over there where he was checking on T'Lea. Someone had obviously called Song to let her know he was up and around again.

And, now that he thought about it, Song had apparently waited to give him and T'Pol time to talk before running down here. Else she'd have been here a whole lot sooner.

So…those two were working together here. And Song had important things to tell him. Hence everything in the last thirty minutes or so being coordinated as it had been.

He wanted to jump her the second she got within range of his voice. Cut right to the chase and have her spell it all out for him. But he played along instead.

Because she was the shrink around here and maybe she knew what she was doing.

"Keyla," He smiled, once she arrived at the bed. "Heard you guys kicked ass and took names. I'm impressed."

She smirked slightly at that.

"We did and of course you are." She said.

Trip chuckled at that. As he was expected to.

"How's your shoulder?" He asked. "T'Pol tells me you a had a close call yourself."

"It's not a problem, as long as I don't move or breathe at all." She said, with a slight grimace. "And a pat on the back's just going to get you punched in the face, so let's not do any of that."

Song looked between the two of them as he offered his second expected chuckle of appreciation.

And there was the short, subtle bit of non-verbal communication between she and T'Pol that he wasn't supposed to notice.

"How are _you _holding up, Captain?" She asked, turning back to him. Leaning up against the bedrail to get comfortable. And to get _him _comfortable.

He held up the stump then.

"Think I left something back on the ship." He said. "I don't suppose we can turn around and go back?"

_That _surprised her.

"You're joking about it already?" She said, tilting her head a little.

"Just trying to keep things in perspective, Keyla."

"No, don't get me wrong, Captain." She explained. "I'm impressed _myself _now. Keep it up. I just thought I'd find you in here crying about it."

Trip stared for a second.

"Wow." He said, flatly. "I see your bedside manner's as stellar as I always figured it would be."

"I'm not a physician, dumbass." She smirked, immediately. "So did T'Pol manage to talk you into a prosthetic yet? She was going on and on about it before."

"No, didn't get that far." He said. "And let's talk shop before we get off track any further. T'Pol's caught me up on most of it, but you've got a few things to say yourself."

Song nodded and left it at that. Never mind that he'd jumped ahead on her that way. She hadn't expected she'd be able to ease into things here exactly.

"First little tidbit." She said. "Alice speaks Romulan now. Guess how that happened."

"Heard the Vulcans speaking it over on the _Vahklas_."

Song frowned, more than a little disappointed.

"You already knew." She accused. "Thought I'd get to tell you myself. You know that means they were working for the Romulans, don't you? High Command's going to have a fit about that."

"Not something we want to miss." Trip grinned. "We'll just have to do our part so they have the opportunity to do that then. What else you got?"

"We started getting transmissions from Celestial Station and Coleman a couple of days ago." Song said. "I guess we're taking too long out here. He's demanding we return to Proxima so the matter of an unusual supply requisition and suspicions of tampering with sealed documentation can be addressed. We've conveniently failed to receive any of those transmissions, though. But still, that's a reminder that we'll need to prepare to face the music if we do actually make it back home."

"Okay, noted. Expected that. What else?"

Song frowned. And chewed her lip a little.

"Song, give it up." Trip said, more firmly now. "What is it?"

"You sure you want me to just jump right into it…?"

"Yes." He said. "I've been out for four days now. Kinda need to catch up on things, Keyla."

She nodded. Reluctantly.

And took a breath.

"We've got 'em, Trip."

Trip stared at that. And he waited impatiently.

He could have done the obvious and asked who. He _wanted _to ask. But he knew the instant she'd said it.

So he waited, to let her go on ahead and lay it out there.

"Picked up their ion trail three days ago." She said. "Moving at 2.5 at the time, under cloak. But we could track them and make an educated guess at distance. T'Pol says the latest Vulcan intel has their passive lateral sensor auto-detection at maybe a million kay, so were keeping just outside that. They haven't actually pinged along their wake yet…"

"How long have we been on them?" Trip asked, tightly.

Song hesitated.

Because what he was asking…he wanted to know how long they'd been following them. Because any Captain worth the rank dropped out of warp and pinged their trail every now and then. Usually every day or two, just in case something was creeping up on them.

A fleet, on the move? They'd do no less.

So she hesitated, but…

"Two days now." She said.

He was pushing up off the bed before she finished speaking.

Already heading for the bridge. Because two days was plenty of time for the fleet to have pinged their warp trail. And if they hadn't yet, that only meant that they hadn't _yet_. So they needed to be ready for that.

Which meant he needed to be on the bridge.

T'Pol was prepared and in position. And she had him pinned before he could get up.

Trip sighed harshly.

"Let me the hell up." He demanded.

"Captain." Song said, intently. Demanding his attention.

And he knew that tone. So he stopped and listened. Granting her exactly just as long as needed to make whatever point…

"Captain…they dropped cloak a few hours ago. They're full warp four for Proxima now. ETA's about nine days."

He froze. Because that took a second to wrap his head around.

"I'm sorry, Trip." Song said, frowning. "I thought it'd be best if you healed as much as you could before I let Andrews wake you up. I just didn't expect…"

Trip closed his eyes and stopped trying to get out of the bed anymore.

He just lay back and let himself relax for just a second. Close his eyes and absorb what that meant.

Nine days to Proxima. Moving at full warp four.

"How many, Song?"

She hesitated again.

But again, he already knew.

"Thirty-two." She said. "Six packs of five. Warbirds leading the packs, two trailing. It's the main fleet, Trip."

Right. Of course it was.

So Coleman saw them coming now. And he was already scrambling defenses into place. Already sending the report to the Fleet Admiral. Way too late for any hope of a response.

Too late even to get the first ship back to Earth to defend.

Nine days to Proxima.

And the _Tempest _was on their ass, just a million kay out. Still hadn't been spotted because the Romulans were so focused on the system they were rushing ahead to rip to shreds.

So they had to hit them now.

Hit them right _now _and do every bit of damage that they could before they could get a single light-year closer…so Coleman would have enough time to take advantage of what he was about to do to that fleet.


	52. Chapter 52

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

It was a suicide mission.

They were less than a day away…perhaps no more than a few hours away…from engaging a force that outnumbered them more than thirty to one. And they'd been through a hectic couple of weeks already.

The sudden, completely unexpected fight at the belt in Centauri with the Romulan Bird of Prey that they hadn't in the least been ready for. The scrambling about trying to get both their own ship and the _Kolinahr _up and running again under emergency conditions before, during and after that fight.

The attempted terrorist bombing aboard the ship. Followed right behind by the necessity of carving out some kind of trusting relationship with the only three Vulcans they'd been unable to get the hell off their ship after that. Something they hadn't exactly made easy with their rather heavy-handed attempts to maintain control of the situation themselves.

Their slick little covert op, stealing munitions from Celestial Station and casually making their departure before anyone could get arrested. And then the fight with the _Enterprise_ right after. The flagship of the fleet, no less. And they'd had to seriously pull their punches there…which hadn't stopped Archer from damned near spanking them silly once he was able to respond in earnest. They'd barely gotten out of that in one piece and only by the most outrageous luck.

Then the _Vahklas_, which had only served to drive home the point that they just hadn't been ready for any of this. Hadn't at all gotten themselves in the proper mindset here. The fact that they were at war just hadn't sunk in…until they got slapped in the face with it. And thank God they'd decided to bring Alice fully online by then, to get her plugged in finally. They'd have all been dead before they'd even known it otherwise.

So they'd been through hell and high water already, exactly as Trip had recently made note of in regards to the _Enterprise_. And maybe he and his crew hadn't quite caught up with Archer and _his _crew in that regard, but Trip sure felt like they were gaining ground and at an accelerated rate by comparison.

And it was a suicide mission. And they were all probably going to die soon. So that put things into a proper perspective around here.

Bridge protocols and standard operation rules had fallen by the wayside as a result of that. And if any of the brass were on the bridge of the _Tempest _at the moment…in fact, if Coleman himself were there right now…Trip had no doubt they would all bear witness to a full on meltdown of epic proportions.

There were PADDs scattered everywhere. And crewmen coming and going freely, bringing things and taking things away without checking them in and out on the board. Everyone was armed and there were a few non-standard weapons and gear scattered around the place. There'd even been an unclaimed phase pistol that got kicked around on the floor for a while. It became something of a joke until somebody finally picked it up and put it…somewhere. Trip hadn't paid attention. Probably sitting on somebody's console now, with a handy holographic holster called up to hold it. He had one of those on his own console anyway, for his own phase pistol.

The tactical map was up, the main screens all showing data for review and they even had the bridge holographics throw up three _more _screens on top of that. Most of those screens showing classified intel and eyes only information that no one but he and Song should be privy to. And just forget about the Vulcan intelligence officer right there on the bridge being exposed to all of it.

There were eight empty cups of coffee on the command console and two of them half full. Which rather illustrated the hectic state they'd largely been in ever since arriving at Proxima all those days ago.

He and Song had long since lost track of whose coffee cup was whose and had probably been having coffee cup sex for the last hour. But that only lasted until T'Pol realized they might just be sharing a cup of coffee, determining that was unacceptable to both her Vulcan sense of possessiveness and appreciation for strict hygiene precautions and labeling them both with tabs she printed off her PADD to put a stop to it.

Crenshaw and Judge had the same thing going on over at the comm station and T'Pol hadn't run over there to label _their _coffee.

And more besides. Million and Judge had apparently thrown caution to the wind and were making no secret of the relationship they had going on. The one he and Song weren't supposed to know about for the last five months. No one said anything to that and no one made a fuss if they were a little touchy in the course of their duties. Likewise Crewman Carver and Jenson, the steward. Which…that one had actually come as a surprise. It would seem Jenson had been going the extra mile around here, making some late night deliveries to the young Maria's personnel quarters recently. Which…maybe explained his volunteering for this mission in the first place.

And pushing the limits to their fullest around here, Trip actually had his shirt unzipped and hanging from one shoulder half the time, while he stood at the command console. With T'Pol, the Vulcan intelligence officer, apparently giving him some kind of weird alien massage thing all down that side about every thirty minutes. Right there in front of God and everybody's grandma. Which finally pushed things to the point where even Song had to say something about all this.

Not to _do _anything about it so much, but just to make sure her objections were noted for the record. Because it had gotten a little beyond ridiculous.

But everyone was busy. Everyone was focused. No one was sweating the little stuff around here and everything other than bringing the pain to that Romulan fleet up ahead had been firmly relegated to the category of 'little stuff'.

Trip was at the command console, just having taken a moment to zip his shirt back up so Song would stop frowning at him. T'Pol having finished up her latest bit of nervous system super-charging and taking a break to let her own system calm down a bit. Coming around to his right side, to be his literal right hand again for a while.

Trip had already learned his lesson concerning how his arm and the console didn't get along very well. If he weren't groaning in unbearable agony every few minutes from trying to punch a button with the stump, forgetting his hand was gone, he was accidentally brushing it up against the console because he was so busy using one hand to do the work of two.

He finally started turning to the side a bit to minimize the chance of doing that anymore. Keeping that side of his body just far enough away that focusing on working with his left hand was easier and safer. And T'Pol swooped right in the moment he did, taking over the entire right side of the console.

Song was on his left, leaning across from that side, doing her best to get in the way and add her two cents to everything going on. No small part of that being her acute awareness that the Vulcan national who wasn't even technically supposed to be on the bridge was presently holding half the damned command chair.

But despite that irritating Trip and making T'Pol all the more possessive…she was pretty damned good at remembering all the little things Trip forgot and thinking of everything he hadn't, so her spot was secured and Trip wasn't about to run her off.

On the tactical map in the middle of the bridge, the Romulan fleet was on display. Ready for them to start laying their plans on just how exactly they could maximize the damage they meant to do here.

And Trip was trying to do that, despite all the distractions going on.

"Roscoe," Trip called over his shoulder. "You got those updates plugged in on the Romulan shield system yet?"

"Yeah, got it. Added a little something on their power grid related to that. Confirmed on three points."

"Whose got intel on bridge armor?" Someone called. "I don't have the damned bridge protection ratings…"

"It's in that SRS report to Starfleet Command, June '54 I think."

"That's not going to help Song if she can't get a sensor setting that'll allow full penetration, Sabrina."

"Harrison's got that. He just needs to update…"

"He's in the Armory."

"I've got that already! I just need the bridge armor rating, so I can make adjustments!"

Trip was finally forced to just tune all that out. As much as he wanted to monitor it all, to be sure it all got done and nothing was overlooked…he'd long since reached the point where he just had to trust his crew to do their jobs. Kinda the whole point of having a crew in the first place.

Speaking of which…

"Okay, Song." He said, eyeing the fleet floating in the middle of the room. "What can you tell me about these guys?"

Song nodded, already prepared to do that.

"They're nuts, first off." She said, easily. "True fanatics. In every single instance where defeat threatens or there's some risk of being captured…they inevitably suicide attack. So far that's been limited to ship combat, since we've yet to face them on the ground, but it's been the consistent response to defeat so far.

"That tells me we're looking at a very rigidly structured, very dominating society. These people are steeped in this mentality from day one. They _worship _whatever organization they're a part of. And it definitely isn't the big pirate gang we've assumed up to now. It's a fully militarized nation. A militocracy of some sort, more than likely."

Song stepped away from the command console, approaching the tactical map. Pointing out the fleet formation.

"Look at how they're flying." She said, indicating that. "A level plane long box formation. Each pack of five Birds of Prey in a 'V' formation, with the leading Warbird sitting in the middle. Two packs in front, two in the middle, two in the back. And two more Warbirds, command ships, trailing at opposite corners. Those two are _driving _the fleet and you can bet one of them is the fleet commander. Probably the guy on the right, from all the left-brain thinking I've seen from them.

"Now, why a long box formation? Because way back when these guys took to space they carried aerial formation methodology with them. Present a minimal aspect to whoever you're going after, to hide your numbers from enemy radar until the last possible moment. But just about everyone they've been fighting in the last few years has sensor systems advanced enough that it doesn't accomplish as much as it probably used to. You can be sure Celestial Station can see just exactly how many ships are coming at them.

"That tells me this repressive, tightly controlled society is a _militaristic _society. So they're flying in this formation because that's what they're used to and no new orders have come down the pipe to change that. Because it doesn't matter anymore. Sensor technology is too advanced for a formation to make enough of a difference that new protocols would be laid down. And they're too regimented to do anything other than follow the protocols that are in place, whether they're obsolete or not."

Trip was already frowning.

"I'd rather they were pirates, Song." He said, not at all pleased with what she had offered up. "Pirates I can maybe trick or surprise. An actual military force…they tend to be prepared for that sort of thing."

T'Pol spoke up, deciding it was her turn to offer input here.

"There are aspects of Romulan culture that Commander Song is unaware of." She said, coming around to view the fleet more closely herself. "The reason for the totalitarian militaristic society, in fact. It serves much the same purpose for the Romulans as the strict adherence to logic and discipline does for Vulcans. Much the same purpose as inherent emotional checks and balances do for Humans.

"For example, where as a Human would be hindered from revealing affection for another person due to fear of rejection or risking vulnerability, a Vulcan would be cautious due to the likelihood of that affection provoking dangerous emotional impulses. A Romulan, however, would be cautious out of concern for that affection being used against them. Their culture is rife with intrigue, betrayal and suspicion. Every action is weighed very strictly against the possibility that it may be used against them in some way. And furthermore weighed against any possibility of disloyalty to the state.

"For that reason, a Romulan may well seem as emotionally controlled and rational as a Vulcan in most cases. Yet they will inevitably display emotional outbursts and irrational behavior that even Humans would find striking. But only so long as the situation allows for it."

"Situations like what?" Trip asked immediately. Because that was exactly what he was looking for here. Some way to manipulate the fleet, even if only in some small way.

"The crew of the _Vahklas _provided a ready example of this type of thinking." T'Pol said. "It is certain they were steeped in the Romulan way themselves. Once defeat threatened, they abandoned reason and embraced self-destructive forms of attack. It is the only purely emotional reaction that is beneficial to the state. It is even considered highly honorable and desirable, so they are prone to accept it eagerly even when other more beneficial options may still be available."

Trip was surprised to spot Benning out of the corner of his eye, having apparently appeared on the bridge at some point. And he'd been immediately drawn to the conversation going on over here.

Which was fine. He'd meant to pick his brain anyway.

But he still wasn't happy with how all this very insightful discussion wasn't offering a whole hell of a lot that he could _use _here...

"That doesn't really help, though." He said. "We're already trying to hit them hard and do as much damage as possible as fast as we can. If we were going to use a tendency to martyr themselves against them, that's exactly what we'd be trying to do anyway. Trying to make it look like they can't win, then letting them kill themselves and spare us the trouble."

Benning came around the command console to lean back against it and view the tactical display. Offering his own input now.

"It may not help us at first," He said, "But it might make getting _out _of the situation a bit easier. If we hurt them bad enough, they may not respond like a disciplined military unit. And that might explain some things I've heard, now that I think about it. Like that _D'Kyr _combat cruiser that took on a whole pack about a year ago. Remember how they got out of that, Song?"

"Right." Song piped in. "They took one of them out, the other four went crazy and the Vulcans ran away. But since they were being pursued the _D'Kyr_ focused on picking apart the weakest one…that guy eventually initiated a warp core breach because they were about to be disabled."

Benning nodded. "And when they popped, they were all so bunched together chasing that _D'Kyr _that one of them was destroyed outright. The other two so badly damaged that the Vulcans actually turned right back around and took them both out."

"We're talking about thirty ships, though." Trip argued. "The best we've been able to do in simulations is knock out all shields and disable maybe half the fleet. And that's the absolute best possible simulation. Even if they lose discipline at that point, we might be able to take a dozen of them with us…but we'd have to get really lucky to even do that much."

"But we are not only talking about losing discipline but losing rational thinking as well." T'Pol said. "If they reach that point you can expect unproductive decisions to be made. Decisions that are more emotional reactions than they are decisions to begin with."

Trip ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair, processing that. His wounded arm still clutched protectively at his waist.

"Okay." He said, after a moment. "But that still leaves us with hitting them hard and fast. Not only to damage the fleet but to throw them off balance so we can take as many as we can with us before they take us down."

Benning stepped up then, shoving off from the command console to approach the tactical display himself.

"Well this formation they're in is a bit of luck for us." He said, gesturing at it. "The fact that they're in formation _at all _helps. We need as many as possible within range of the missiles when they fire. And as they are right now, that'd be all of them. But they're not going to _stay _that way when they see us coming up behind them."

He indicated the two trailing Warbirds.

"These guys are going to make a defensive split the second we show up on sensors. And they're command ships, so they aren't going to turn back on us and attack. They're going to run up alongside the formation on probably…a forty-five degree departure. Putting distance on the formation in case we're coming after one of them, so we're drawn in just a little too close trying to catch them. Then darting straight back in again while one of these _packs _jumps out and engages us. Which puts half the fleet outside the range of the missiles before we can even get close."

Trip shrugged.

"So we go low." He said. "Drive straight in and as soon as they start to do that, drop z-axis hard, keeping oriented on the fleet, until we're at maybe a forty-five degree angle approach ourselves."

"Then these two guys jump up _on top _of the fleet." Benning said, nodding. "Hide behind them because we're being so unpredictable. And that puts both of them right back in range of the missiles again. And one of them is the fleet commander."

Song frowned, though.

"Still leaves that pack they're going to send after us." She said. "Maybe we're just one little ship but they're not going to just let us walk right up to the fleet. They'll send a pack after us, probably one of those two in the rear."

"But that's not all they're going to do." Benning pointed out. "Now we're incoming from below and behind. So they shift those two packs in the front down low themselves. And hike up the two in the rear. Or…the _one _in the rear, since the other one will be coming after us. But that puts the fleet oriented perpendicular to us again. Which is what they _think _they want."

"Because they want to be ready to cover each other against this crazy Starfleet frigate coming after them." Trip smirked. "But it just puts them _all _right back in range of the missiles again."

A sudden smudge of blue on the periphery of his vision announced Shran's arrival. And here _she _came to get in on things. So the gang's all here, it would seem.

He really should have just gone ahead and called an actual command staff meeting.

"This still leaves the pack sent to engage us." T'Pol said. "Five Birds of Prey. A Warbird as well, if the pack remains intact. They will be focused on intercepting our approach. Can the _Tempest _engage as many as six Romulan vessels and survive? And still approach the fleet closely enough to fire the missiles?"

"Well, that's the tricky part." Trip said. "Mayhem can get us past that pack easy enough…but it's a one shot. It probably won't work twice and we need it to get close to the fleet. So we have to deal with that pack some other way, without getting too badly beat up in the process."

Shran jumped in then, not wanting to be left out of this discussion. Kicking the Romulans in the gonads was something she was very much looking forward to.

"Unless we can hit that pack while it's still close enough to the fleet." She said. "Then we can use Mayhem to get past them _and _fire the missiles. Why don't we use that fancy fast attack maneuver Song likes so much?"

Song smirked. "Because it took out every impulse thruster on the ship last time I used it."

"So do it better next time." Shran frowned. "And who cares anyway? All we really have to do is fire the missiles. After that any Bird of Prey we take out is a bonus. We'll already have hurt the fleet enough that Proxima isn't so easy a target."

"That is insufficient." T'Pol said. "Our goal is not only to damage the fleet but to do as much damage as we can. And to escape again afterward, if that is possible."

"Can't do both." Shran insisted. "If we really want to hurt them then we have to stay in the fight after we knock out their shields. To take advantage of that. We could destroy or disable a dozen of them if we're lucky. And that's enough that they can't simply plow right through Proxima defenses anymore. They could even get stuck there."

Trip sighed.

"Look." He said, firmly. "I've been clear on this point so far but let me say it again anyway. This is a suicide mission. I don't know what God has in mind for us here, but barring divine intervention of some kind we're not coming back from this. So we focus on doing every bit of damage we can to that fleet. We go down swinging and we go down swinging hard."

He looked around, eyeing everyone there intently. To be sure they were all getting this.

And the rest of the bridge crew as well. As they'd all stopped yelling across the bridge to one another to listen to the very interesting discussion going on.

"Now, we've got a Vulcan shuttle sitting in the cargo bay." He said. "And she's warp capable. So we load the wounded on that shuttle and get them clear before we engage. That will be your last chance to step away from this, so if you're not on board anymore take the opportunity while you can."

And having said that…it occurred to Trip that this might be the only opportunity _he _had.

To convince T'Pol to go with T'Lea. To board that shuttle and get out of this before it was too late.

"We've got a rough plan thrown together here." He said. "We'll go over it a bit more and find all the weak spots, but we've got what we need. So everyone finish up what you're doing and take an hour. Go prepare yourselves for this. Or make your decision to get on that shuttle. I want them debarked and out of harm's way when that hour's up, so make your decision before then or it'll be made for you."

Everyone looked uncomfortable at that. And he could only hope that was because enough of them fully realized the situation now, having reached the point of no return here.

But one of them was going to object, he knew. They were going to try to reassert themselves and form a rallying point for everyone else. It was just Human nature, after all. They probably wouldn't even realize what they were doing or why.

It was still surprising that it was Song who did that, though.

"Trip, I think I can speak for all of us…"

"Well, you're wrong. Because you can't." Trip said, quickly. To quash _that _before it got started. "You can't speak for everyone else. You can't speak for anyone but Keyla Song. So take an hour and go decide what she's gonna do. Everyone else, go do the same."

He nodded sharply then. Putting on what air of authority he could for them.

"One hour." He said. "_Dismissed_."

They dithered and looked uncertainly at one another. And again, it was Human nature. They'd expected someone would step up and make the decision for them. And now they had to do that for themselves.

It took a little glaring here, a little reassurance there and a few quietly but firmly spoken words.

Then he had the bridge cleared.

And he was alone there with T'Pol.

He'd known, without even thinking about it. She'd stay because he stayed.

Which was exactly the problem.

He came around the command console to face her, where she still stood near the tactical display.

Leaned back against the console, where Benning had leaned before. Arms folded at his chest, even if the stump did detract a bit from how strongly he'd meant to present himself.

He took a deep breath…and let it out again.

And…yep, still had no idea what the heck he was going to say here to convince her to be logical.

Of course…at that thought, the logical argument became perfectly obvious.

"T'Pol." He said.

And she immediately tucked her hands at her back and faced him. Ready to have whatever conversation they were about to have.

He smiled a little at that. Couldn't help it.

"I need you to do something." He said.

"What do you require?" She asked.

Ready, of course, to do whatever he required.

"I need you to do the logical thing here." He said.

And there we go. Groundwork firmly laid. Argument won.

The argument was already over, before it had even begun. However much she might hem-haw and try to edge around things, she couldn't argue logic.

She'd be getting on that shuttle. Because whatever else could be said about her, she was Vulcan and it was the logical thing to do.

"The shuttle leaves in an hour…"

"I will not be on it." T'Pol interrupted. "That would not be logical."

Trip…took a second to recover himself. Because…

"That actually _would _be the logical thing…"

"It would not."

Trip cleared his throat.

"T'Pol." He said, reasserting himself. "We've got two very fine Tactical officers already and this fight doesn't need an intelligence officer…"

"That is irrelevant." She countered. "You are my _t'hy'la _and I am able to touch your _katra_. And you mine. It would not be logical to abandon you."

"You can find another _t'hy'la_. In fact, I'm sure you'll have no trouble…"

"Also irrelevant. If you were something so easily dismissed and replaced, you would not be my _t'hy'la_. It is obvious you do not understand the nature of this relationship and it is unfortunate we have not had the opportunity to discuss that in detail yet. But while I understand your intentions, they are misguided, Trip."

"T'Pol," He said, more firmly now. Brooking no further argument. "You're getting on that shuttle. If I have to…"

"I am not leaving." She said, dismissively. "And this discussion no longer serves a purpose. I have another matter that is relevant to discuss with you, however."

"Well, we're not finished discussing _this _just yet."

"That conversation has already ended. And this matter is actually relevant. But if you are unable to participate in making the decision I intend to discuss with you, then I am prepared to make it for both of us on my own."

Trip took a deep breath. Again.

Stalling for a little time because…

…well, yeah. Whatever else you could say about T'Pol, she was female. So maybe he'd been a little overconfident in his ability to win an argument with her so easily.

And…she was Vulcan. So…maybe at all.

"Look." He said, giving it one more try. Because you never know.

She ignored that, talking right over him.

"Captain Archer asked for my assessment of you as Captain of this vessel." She said.

Which…

Huh? What the hell did _that _have to do with…?

"As part of that, I mentioned that you are too willing to embrace self-sacrifice." She continued. "That was a matter of some concern to me then. All the more now, considering what I have learned."

She paused there.

And Trip frowned.

Because he didn't want to ask. And because he knew damned well she'd said that entirely to force him to. Which would effectively surrender that other argument he was still trying to have and concede to this one.

"What do you mean, 'what you've learned'?" He asked, despite himself. "What have you learned?"

"That it is possible for us to bond." She said. "Not only possible but perhaps likely enough to justify attempting that."

And damn.

Now he had about ten different questions that needed answers.

He hadn't exactly had time to read up on Vulcans like he'd meant to, so he had no idea what she was talking about.

And because he was Trip, he had to know what she was talking about. His curiosity had just been challenged on a subject he already found impossibly compelling.

The subject of T'Pol.

He took another deep breath. Steeling himself.

"Fine." He said. "But we're talking about the shuttle thing before we're done here."

"We do not have the luxury of discussing the irrelevant." T'Pol dismissed.

"I think it's…"

"I have mentioned mating bonds in passing." She said, talking over him again. "Were you able to intuit the general concept?"

"I…guess. I don't know exactly. Look…"

"It is a complicated subject, with many details I'm sure you will find fascinating. But the most relevant point being that it is a _mating _bond. Essentially the Vulcan equivalent of Human marriage."

"Well…okay. But what's that got to do with…?"

"The possibility exists for us." She said, as if it should have been obvious. "It is something we should discuss."

Trip had his mouth open to keep going with the whole getting back to the original argument thing…

But, yes, that threw all that right out the window.

"Wait." He said, throwing up his one hand to stop her from spinning him around for just a second, thank you very much. "You're talking about getting married?"

"Essentially." She said. "Although, as I indicated before, mate bonding is only the Vulcan _equivalent_…"

"T'Pol…is this the right time for this talk?" Trip said, surprised. "I mean, I don't mind talking about it and all but…this isn't really the time…"

"It is the time." She insisted. "Because you're tendency to embrace self-sacrifice has impacted your command decisions. And those decisions impact even the possibility of pursuing a mating bond. We discussed the conditions under which intimate sexual behavior can be expected to reoccur during our conversation in sickbay, but I failed to take the opportunity to properly delineate those conditions."

Okay…what?

Seriously, _what?_

"T'Pol…I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I am talking about the fact that pursuing a mating bond is the logical course for us to take." She said. "But that requires up to a year to achieve success, assuming we succeed. That in turn requires surviving the assault on the Romulan fleet."

"Which makes this whole confusing argument you're throwing at me so I don't make you get on the shuttle completely pointless, T'Pol. Because we're not going to survive the assault on the Romulan fleet. So let's get back to talking about how you're going to get on that shuttle."

"I will stay to ensure we survive." T'Pol insisted. "Because you have failed to see the logic of survival."

"I don't have a problem with survival…"

"You do. Your religious beliefs indicate that you will achieve eternal paradise when you die. Consequently, you do not respect the prospect of death and your decisions, as in this case, are impacted by that."

"I'm as scared of dying as anyone else. And this still doesn't have anything to do with…"

"Perhaps you fear dying. But you do not fear death. And so you are comfortable expending your life in the attempt to destroy the Romulan fleet. But this has an impact on both of us. Not just individually, but both of us together. So what I require of you is that you respect that and resolve to work together with me to ensure we survive this assault."

Trip…frowned. Deeply and with some confusion.

There was a damned point she was trying to make here. And it was a big one. He just had no idea what the hell it was…

"Allow me to attempt to put this in perspective for you, _t'hy'la_." She said. Speaking gently now, rather than arguing.

So he sighed. And paid attention.

Because you never know. Maybe she'd make some damned sense.

"You were willing to give your life so that Lynn might live." She said. "Just as you are willing to give your life now so that billions of others might live. That is noble and it is good. But you have forgotten something equally as important, Trip. You have forgotten there are others that you must live for."

_Oh._

He got it.

And, of course. But…

"I can't, T'Pol." He said. And he said it sadly, because it was indeed a sad and terrible thing. "We can't survive this."

"It is possible." T'Pol insisted.

"Well, sure. Anything is possible. It's just not very likely at all."

"But you must make the attempt. Because it is possible. And the bond that you and I could bring into being requires it."

He shook his head.

"T'Pol…I'm only Human. You're just asking too much of me."

"I am asking too much of you, yes. But we are not one person. We are two. And together we can become greater than the sum of both of us. So together we can do what is possible but not likely. All I ask is that you embrace that."

Right. Okay. Got it.

"So you're just asking that I try to get us out of this alive." He said, to be sure he was following along.

"At the most basic level. But also reminding you that the relationship we share carries an implicit duty to do so. And, additionally, I am establishing the point beyond argument that I intend to do my duty in this regard as well. So I will not be boarding the shuttle."

Trip stared for a bit.

So, yeah. He'd lost that original argument way back before it even started. Despite being so sure the complete opposite was true. And he'd apparently lost _this _argument, too. Without being completely sure what the heck it was even about.

He took another deep breath.

"Are you sure we aren't already married?" He asked. "Or bonded, or whatever? Because you're driving me crazy here, T'Pol. Kinda like I suspect only a wife could a guy."

"Not as yet." T'Pol said, easily. "But there is hope yet."

"And all I have to do is take out twenty-four Birds of Prey and eight Warbirds."

"Or at least survive the attempt, yes."

Trip considered that for a moment.

And...

Actually...

That was a pretty sweet deal, wasn't it?

So...

"Okay, fine." He said, smirking. "Consider it done."


	53. Chapter 53

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Cargo Bay, Deck C**

Song watched as Andrews and Shran carefully loaded T'Lea onto the Vulcan shuttle. Walking or even standing up was still entirely out of the question for her, but since the shuttle was too large for the Launch Bay and had to be flown right out the loading bay doors…simply relocating her recovery bed directly onto the shuttle was easy enough.

It still didn't take _two _people to wheel a recovery bed across the bay and into the shuttle. Shran was just being weird again, pitching in to help so she could take the opportunity to say goodbye.

That worried Song. Her behavior over the last couple of days made her seem every bit the overly attached Andorian, trying to replace her lost quad with the crew of the ship. The attraction she had for T'Lea specifically was all the more troubling for what it suggested, as she made absolutely no effort to hide it at all.

This was precisely what Shran was supposed to have been working so hard _not _to do. And yet both times Song brought it up, Shran had shrugged the matter off as if it weren't a concern. And she really did _seem _to have found some kind of balance here…

So Song was just left to worry and hope this wasn't exactly the unhealthy state that Shran had been so afraid she'd succumb to. That she'd simply adjusted to the situation with a little help from the Vulcan, as she claimed.

And, really, it may not even matter. They were coming up on the end of their mission here. So at worst Shran was just taking advantage of the fact that she was going to die soon in order to indulge herself. It wasn't as if any sort of long-term repercussions were likely to have to be dealt with.

Song contemplated these things as she watched T'Lea being loaded onto the shuttle. Watching still as Shran lingered inside the shuttle with her for a moment, after Andrews had already stepped outside again.

Whatever was said in there was obviously heart-felt and deeply moving for Shran. The affection she had for the Vulcan was perfectly palpable. And yet it only lasted a few seconds before Shran turned and bounded quite comfortably and happily out of the shuttle again. Stepping clear and turning to watch, not seeming especially upset at all.

So, again…Song just had to face the fact that Andorians were a little inscrutable when it came to relationships. She couldn't make heads or tails of how the woman…or the shen, actually…was able to switch emotional gears so easily and comfortably.

Maybe Song herself could have done that…but only because she never would have gotten all that attached in the first place.

At her side, leaning on his crutches, Tanner spoke suddenly. So Song was forced out of her musing to deal with him.

She knew what she needed to do there, at least. Humans she understood well enough.

"Ma'am." Tanner said, hesitantly. "I don't mean to beat a dead horse here, but there's no reason Jenson can't fly the shuttle. It's not that hard…"

"Jenson's stuck up Carver's butt at the moment, Tanner." Song said. "He's not going anywhere. T'Lea needs a pilot and the Captain was very clear. All wounded on the shuttle. That means you."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand that. But you're going to need a third shift science officer. Especially with…Jennings gone…"

"You can barely walk, Tanner. That isn't going to change overnight."

"I know that, ma'am. But I don't have to run around or anything…"

"Tanner." Song interrupted, speaking softly now. "You've done your part. Stop telling yourself there's more that you should do. This _is _the more that you should do. We're counting on you and T'Lea to get out of this alive. We need you to tell Earth and Vulcan what happened here, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Tanner said, however reluctantly. "It's just…"

"I know." Song assured. "And I know it's not fair either. Me, Tucker and T'Pol are all wounded and _we're _staying. So, yes, it's _not _fair. But it's got to be this way. So just get on the shuttle, Lieutenant, and do your last duty for this ship."

Tanner sighed.

"Yes, ma'am." He said.

But he hesitated a moment longer before limping his way over to the shuttle.

"Ma'am." He said, seriously. "I just want to say…it's been a real honor working with you."

Song grinned.

"Of course it has. I'm pretty amazing. Now get on the shuttle, Lieutenant."

Tanner chuckled. So that was good at least.

"Yes, ma'am."

Shran was there before he could get going good, though. He managed only a single awkward shuffle with the crutches before she appeared in his path.

"Tanner." Shran said, smiling as she approached. "You're sure you can pilot this thing? It's Vulcan, so it might need to flown logically. I wouldn't have the first idea how to do that myself."

Tanner snorted, grinning despite himself. "I got a look at the layout already, ma'am. It's fairly standard. And T'Lea will be there."

"Don't go troubling her." Shran, immediately. "Let her rest. And no barrel rolls or loops. She's hurt and this isn't a joyride."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of her, I promise."

"That's good then. So limp on in there and let's get you on your way."

Tanner finally started moving forward again, once Shran let him pass. And she stepped over beside Song to watch him board the shuttle.

He stood at the door once he boarded, leaning uncomfortably on the crutches and looked back at them.

Then he smiled grimly and nodded, tapping the control panel near the door. And the door closed.

He was practically gone then. As gone as if the shuttle had already disembarked. And as many of the crew as they've left behind and lost in combat so far, it was still a painful sense of bereavement that descended…

"This really sucks." Shran suddenly announced. "I know I could have at least got a kiss or something if I'd had just another day or two."

Song nearly burst out laughing at that. And she did snicker, despite herself.

"Shran," She chuckled. "Isn't that what you were supposed to trying to avoid all this time?"

"I'm not talking about forming a whole quad or anything." Shran frowned. "But a kiss would have been nice. Maybe get my antennae a little action while I was at it."

Song shook her head.

"You really are too much, Talla."

Shran looked over, giving her a quick, critical assessment.

"You know, _you're _kind of cute, Keyla." She smirked. "I don't suppose _you'd _be interested?"

"Well, normally I'd be willing to try anything once. But that ovipositor thing still freaks me out."

Shran shrugged. "Your loss. I'll just have to see if I can get my hands on Benning then. And at least he's got a penis."

Song did laugh out loud then.

So Shran grinned and gave her a wink. Clearly pleased with having made her laugh, which was what she'd been about to begin with.

Then she simply turned right around and headed out of the cargo bay without another word. Nearly bouncing with self satisfaction.

Off to track down Benning, presumably.

Song was still chuckling to herself at the completely different person Shran had become. The person much more like the Andorian she'd gotten to know all those many months ago, when she first accepted the position of XO for this ship.

She'd actually kind of missed the old Shran, now that she thought about it. Talla had been such a complete beast for the last six months or so that she'd sort of forgotten how much fun she could be when she had a mind to.

Andrews came alongside then. Standing with her, watching the shuttle prep for launch.

"Talla seems to be getting back to her old self." He remarked. "That's a little scary."

Song grinned. "You prefer the grumpy she-beast she's been up to now?"

"If it means I'm going to have to start watching my back when I'm in the shower, then yes, Commander."

"Relax," Song chuckled. "She just likes messing with people's heads. It's an Andorian thing. She gets a kick out of pushing all the buttons Humans have."

"Think she's really going after Benning?"

"She'll probably flirt with him outrageously now that she _said _that, but no, I doubt it. And Benning would freak out anyway."

Andrews grinned.

"Well, it really is good to see her getting back to her old self."

Song nodded. "Yeah, it is. I really started getting worried there for a while. Didn't think she'd ever snap out of it."

"So how are _you _doing, Keyla?" Andrews asked, switching gears suddenly.

Song shrugged easily, though.

"Fine. As long as I keep the patch on and don't lean on the wall, it doesn't even bother me. Brushing my hair left handed this morning was a delightful challenge, though…"

"That's not what I mean." Andrews said, gently.

Oh. Right.

That.

"I'm fine." She said, simply.

And she left it at that.

"You know, I'm not a shrink." Andrews said. "I don't have the training that you do, but I have at least figured out that when someone says, 'I'm fine' in a situation like this…they practically never are."

Song was quiet for a breath or two.

Then she sighed.

"Okay." She said. "If you need to hear it, then okay. I really am fine. Probably the most interesting guy I've met in over a decade, who I jumped right in the sack with before we even had an official second date, got himself killed right in front me. And I'm completely fine with that.

"It sucks but I'm fine with it. And I got my revenge, so I'm even _more _fine with it. Because I didn't let myself get close to the guy or let any kind of real relationship happen other than just flirting and playing around. Which happens to be great right now because, like I said, I'm fine with it all. It's just that I _shouldn't _be fine, damn it. And that I am just keeps illustrating how I'm kind of a screwed up person, Daniel."

Andrews considered that for a moment. More just to give Song time to adjust to having said what she did than actually contemplating his response. He already knew what to say here.

"You know what I'm going to ask you now, right?" He grinned.

Song snorted.

"'How does that make you feel, Song?'" She said, mockingly.

Andrews nodded, grinning.

"So how _does _that make you feel?"

"Irritated." She said, immediately. "Because it forces me to confront some things about myself that really need to be dealt with. And how that isn't going to happen because we're all probably going to die soon, so why the hell does it insist on bothering me?"

Song reached and flipped her hair violently to one side. A clear gesture of how frustrated she was at the moment.

And she changed the subject.

"What about you?" She asked. "I got the impression you were looking forward to working out with Commander Hess. And how that might not be exclusively a reference to hanging out at the gym."

Andrews winced a bit at that. But it wasn't unexpected that she'd turn the tables on him. She did tend to get a bit aggressive when you broached certain subjects.

"I guess…sort of the same situation." He said. "Except that I didn't have _time _to get close enough to her that her death had a big impact on me. And so I'm left frustrated with how I feel like I did something wrong by not getting close enough that I _would _be completely devastated. And how that's a really weird way to feel right now."

Song snorted again at that.

"Now you see why I got into psychology." She said. "It's amazing how screwed up we all are and yet still manage to get through a whole day being generally productive."

"Well, I'll stick to the physical side of medicine and leave the rest to you, Keyla. That stuff just makes my head hurt."

"Because you've got that chip in your head." She said. "And how come _we _never got together, anyway? I always got the impression you found me attractive. If you'd made your move sometime before six _months _ago, I might have let you buy me a drink."

Andrews grinned at that. Because, yes, he almost had a few times. It's just that…

"Well, you're kind of a screwed up person, Keyla."

"Yeah." Song shrugged. "I guess I wouldn't date me either."

The shuttle was prepped and ready to go by then. The only thing really holding it up being the two officers standing around chit chatting in the cargo bay that needed to be evacuated before it could do that.

"Alright, let's clear out of here." She said. "This is about as 'goodbye' as it's going to get. I'm going to head over to Science and make sure Eckerd's got everything ready there. What about you?"

"I've got something to talk to the Captain about." Andrews said, vaguely. "After that…I guess I'll head to sickbay and makes sure everything's ready there."

"Okay. And here's hoping we don't give you too much work to do, Daniel."

They left the cargo bay then, and Lieutenant Crowley in the control room wasted no time evacuating atmosphere from the bay. Going through the final preparations, confirming everything was green and good to go with the shuttle.

Opening the loading bay doors, for the shuttle to rise slightly and slip gracefully out into open space. Leaving the _Tempest _and going to warp with little delay.

And Song stayed on in the corridor outside for a moment. Watching through the small, circular window in the door even after the shuttle was gone. Watching until the loading bay doors closed once again.

Before she moved on, back to the dreadful matters that lay ahead.

* * *

><p>In the ready room, standing over the same display table that T'Pol had recently examined so carefully, Trip wrestled with the patch of synthetic skin covering the stump where his right hand used to be.<p>

And his hand had done a much nicer job of covering up that whole area than this spray-on patch of synthetic skin cells and…whatever the heck else that stuff was made of. So he was missing his hand…his _right _hand…in a whole new way now. Which was just delightful.

It itched under there, which it wasn't supposed to do. And it was time to apply that smelly paste Andrews had given him. So he had two really great reasons to get that crap off of there. A good, solid bit of scratching and the begrudging smearing of stinky paste.

But first he had to get that stuff off. And he couldn't find the damned scraper thing the doc had given him to do that with.

Behind him, at his desk, T'Pol was going over all the intelligence they had on the Romulan ships. Both the Bird of Prey and the Warbird.

"Consider the way the ships are armed." She was saying. "The Bird of Prey having only missile launchers. No other method of attack is available to them. In addition to this, both class of ship utilize a cheap and dangerous magnetic bottle to contain an artificial singularity of some kind. This powers the ship, including the cloaking shield, as well as allowing a rather unique form of warp travel. But that limits their ability to manage power between these separate technologies, each possessing high power demands."

Trip sighed. Because he wasn't getting anywhere with this damned synthetic skin patch thing.

"So what's _that _mean?" He asked, grumpily. Still wrestling with the patch.

"Their starships are built to be cheap and expendable." T'Pol said. "While Starfleet utilizes cutting edge technology and works constantly to improve that, as well as crewing their ships with only the most capable and highly trained individuals available, the Romulans employ the opposite strategy. Fielding large numbers of mass-produced starships and crewing them with common crewmen. Their technology only advanced to the point that it can be used somewhat effectively before immediately being utilized. Rather than devoting significant time and resources to fully pursuing that technology's potential."

Trip was growing frustrated.

He had the edge of that patch pulled just exactly _almost _free enough that he could get a nice pinch on it to pull with. But he couldn't quite get it.

He gave up, huffing angrily. And reached for the closest approximation to that damned scraper thing that he hadn't been able to find anywhere.

"Crap ships crewed by conscripted officers." Trip said, irritably. "And their technology's crap, too."

He began digging at the edge of that patch with the small, hand-sized model of the _Tempest _he'd snatched off the display table. The nacelles on the thing offering the only available tool that might get under there enough…

And it _itched_.

"Yes, Romulans vessels are inferior taken individually." T'Pol said. "But if they are able to field great enough numbers, that would make them a threat nonetheless overall. And they must at least believe they do or they would not have launched this attack in the first place. An attack across two entire sectors. This suggests a large reserve force being held back until the lines are drawn."

Trip was getting angry.

The constant digging and picking around the stump had aggravated every nerve in there. It was beginning to hurt. And it itched even _more _now than before.

So he dug a little too hard with the model as a result of that.

The nacelle suddenly snapping off, flying away over his shoulder. Leaving a sharp exposed point to dig into this skin…

…running right under the patch he'd been digging at, accomplished more or less what he'd been trying to accomplish. Except that a sickening wave of horrific pain accompanied that success because he'd jabbed too forcefully, too deeply and far more effectively than he'd intended.

He tensed and hissed as a wave of agony flashed through him. His left hand snatching over to grip his right forearm forcefully, trying in vain to stem the tide. Shaking and trembling with the incredible effort of absorbing that pain.

He wanted to scream. He _needed _to scream.

To kick something and curse. And more than that, just to take a damned breath. Because he couldn't breathe for a moment.

He couldn't do anything but grip his arm forcefully and shake, because the pain wouldn't let him. And when he finally was able to breathe again, he found himself driving the fist of his free hand into the wall instead.

Driving it there with all the rage and dismay that suddenly poured through him.

Striking the star chart there, upsetting it from the simple connector attaching it to the wall. It falling immediately, startled at his outburst, to seek shelter on the display table somewhere.

Knocking damned near everything on there right off and out of the way. To fall and tumble and clatter to the floor all around his feet.

He had tears in his eyes.

Whether from the pain or from everything he was suddenly feeling that he wasn't prepared to feel. But whatever the case, that only made him all the more psychotically furious.

He was stomping all the crap that had fallen off the table before he knew it. Stomping it all furiously, to punish it for not doing what the hell it was supposed to be doing. Rapidly, repeatedly stomping it all, with all of his rage.

Stomping and cursing loudly. In a way he hadn't cursed in a good long time.

Until that wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

So he grabbed the display table with the only hand he had left, to prove to the universe that he could damned well destroy something even with only one hand. Lifting it and throwing it over with all the power that the rage burning in his veins had unlocked in him. To throw the table as far across the room as he could.

It wasn't very far.

He managed to turn the table over and spill the few things that had been dutiful enough to stay on top of the thing like they should. But the table was pretty heavy. So it only, merely flipped over.

He was leaning into the wall then. Head against the surface, supporting his weight. His one good hand balled into a fist, shaking even still with the desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay.

And his arm still hurt, still itched.

T'Pol had approached at some point. Standing a respectable distance from the outburst going on, but close enough to attempt some measure of support.

Waiting a moment, to be sure he'd collected himself a little. Before making her attempt.

"Trip?" She asked, carefully.

He lashed out instantly.

"_Can you just find me the God damned scraper, T'Pol?!"_

She paused at that.

And waited, to see if there would be further aggression. But nothing else followed.

"I have it." She said, after a moment. "It was on the desk, beside the…"

His left hand leapt out behind him, still not turning from the wall.

"Just give me the damned thing!"

She hesitated again. Unsure at first what to do here.

She found that she was not as prepared for this behavior as she'd thought. And Trip was Human, capable of significant and uncontrolled violence under the right conditions. Which it seemed may be at work here.

The prospect of being forced to defend herself against _Trip_ was…daunting.

And in his current state, he would surely injure himself further attempting to remove the synthetic patch, if she allowed him to have the scraper.

But…she didn't know what else to do…

She went to him. Touching him gently, carefully on the shoulder. Both announcing her presence and attempting to connect.

And she knew that this was the moment he would strike out at her, if he were going to. She found herself surprisingly prepared to accept that, if it happened. She would do what was required then but she would allow that moment of vulnerability to occur nonetheless.

He didn't strike out. He…released somehow instead. His shoulders slumping, hand coming back to rest on the wall near his head. And he whimpered, audibly.

She pulled gently at his shoulder, stepping closer. Only a little and perhaps only barely perceptibly. To encourage him to turn to her.

"Give me your arm, _t'hy'la_." She said, gently.

He turned away from the wall. Head bowed, eyes low. And there were tears there. Something she'd witnessed twice now already. Once not at all in person, but in the holographic chamber with Lynn. Once in this very room, when he intentionally opened himself to her. To repay the honor that she'd paid him before.

She took his arm gently, bringing it up between them. scraper in her hand.

"I'm sorry." He said, quietly. "I'll…do it. Just give me the thing and…"

"I will do it." She said, softly. "You are too emotional at the moment. Calm yourself and allow me to help you."

He said nothing further. Allowing her to work carefully and precisely, removing the synthetic patch. And she didn't hurt him a bit in the process.

While he regained control of himself again. Breath still hitching, still trembling slightly. Until he was eventually calm again.

She removed the last of the patch easily. And knelt to retrieve the can of paste from the floor nearby to apply that as well.

"I'm sorry." He said, meekly. "I shouldn't have done that. You didn't deserve that."

"It is understandable." She said. "You are an emotional person. You have suffered a deeply traumatic event, not allowing yourself to express your emotions regarding that. So they expressed themselves. I expected this to occur at some point."

Trip just shook his head, denying that.

"That's no excuse." He said. "What the hell kind of _t'hy'la _am I gonna be for you if I do _that _every damned time something bad happens?"

"I doubt you will lose a limb very often. And I will of course use this incident to coerce you into learning to meditate. You will likely not require it as often as I do but I am certain you will benefit from it regardless."

He didn't argue. Nor so much as attempt humor, as she would have preferred. He simply accepted that instead and said nothing further to it.

So she took the next step.

"Trip, I am unprepared to deal with your emotional needs." She said. "As your _t'hy'la _it would have been better if I had not only foreseen this behavior but moved to help you resolve it before you suffered an outburst. But I do not know how to do that. I will learn, and you will learn as well. And that is how we become greater than the sum of both of us. Do you understand?"

Trip nodded.

"Yeah."

T'Pol nodded as well, applying the last of the paste.

"You will learn to meditate, so that your emotional ranges are not as extreme." She continued. "I will adapt to what remains. I think this will not be difficult for me, as I already find your emotionality agreeable. So I will embrace greater comfort with sharing my own emotions with you as well. And so we have already begun our journey."

She resealed the can of paste, moving to place it on the desk along with the scraper. And she returned to him, finding him still humbled and ashamed.

She took his hand then. And she led him to the center of the room.

"I will help you to heal from your injury again." She said. "Stimulating the nodes associated with that. Then I will teach how to do the same for me."

And they did. T'Pol helping him to heal, reminding his body not to fight the wound but to accept and repair it. Trip doing the same, once she guided him through the process. And he was remarkably intuitive in doing so. Mastering the basics of the practice easily.


	54. Chapter 54

_**Daise Hfai  
><strong>_**Romulan Warbird (**_**IRW Sehu-Lla'fve**_**)  
><strong>**Reverence Room, Deck B**

Commander Branak found her there, as he knew he would. On her knees on the floor, weeping quietly. Her head bowed in submission to the Eagle emblazoned on the wall, overlooking the Reverence Room.

Here, casting her grief to the only thing worthy of it. The very symbol of the Empire.

It shamed him a little, but the sight moved him. He would never admit to it nor ever allow anyone to know this secret thing. But it did move him somewhat.

"Sienae." He said, softly. Approaching her from the doorway.

She didn't answer. Only continuing her weeping. Shaking only a little, on her knees even still. Clutching her hands to her chest in her grief.

He approached, as cautiously as his need to end this would allow him to. Until he stood over her…and let his knees buckle, bringing him to the floor beside her.

"Sienae." He begged. "End this. How do you expect that I can bear it any longer?"

"What do I care for what you can bear?" She said, bitterly. Not even sparing him a single moment's look. Not a glance and no other indication that she was aware of him at all, but that one bitter thing she'd spoken.

"Sienae," He tried again, allowing only a little tremble in his voice. Only a hint at the passion he would show for her here. "This is not safe for you. Even in this place you risk someone taking interest in your grief. In what you grieve _for_…"

"I grieve for the Empire." She said, her voice hitching a little. "I grieve every breath that the worthless bastard that leads this fleet draws…"

"_Sienae!" _He hissed. "Collect yourself. Do you think you will not be overheard, even here in this room?"

She was silent then at least, if only for a moment.

Silent and still. Until she spoke again, sighing.

"Branak," She said, wearily. "How still? Even now, how do you seek to protect me? I curse your superior. I curse him! And you come here to stand watch."

Branak hesitated. And he allowed her to witness his hesitation.

"I…still believe you can be reasoned with."

"You desire me even still." She said. "You love me still, even knowing I despise him."

"And I cannot bear it!" Branak said, pain clearly evident in his voice. "That the one woman I require before all others…the one I cannot rip from my heart as my need demands of me…that you _risk your death_, Sienae!"

"My life for his death." She said, so very bitterly.

Branak sighed.

"Sienae, _please_. Come away from this thing. Even if not to come to me, if only to step away…"

"I would not come to you." She said. "If I abandoned my hatred for an enemy of the Empire, then I would not be worthy of you."

"And will you not say it? Even now, Sienae?"

"That I love you, Branak? No, never."

"But you do."

"I love nothing but the Empire. Everything else I hatefully despise."

"Then you hate the truth as well. Because you do love me, as I love you."

"The truth as well then."

And that was enough. Not a confession of love perhaps, but enough nonetheless.

Branak reached for her, even as she pulled away from his embrace.

Weakly, of course. Pretending that last failing attempt to resist him.

Submitting after that short moment, to let him take her tightly into his arms. Weeping openly now as she clutched him to her in return.

"Branak…" She whispered, as she cried. "How? How can I live for this when my first love is so shamefully dishonored?"

"Only a passing thing, Sienae." He swore. "Only passing. The Empire lives forever, but we do not. Come _away_, Sienae. Come with me and live a little longer."

"I cannot!" She wept. "Who am I to abandon the Empire for you?"

"Then name any thing." Branak swore. "Anything that you would have me do. Name it and it will be done. If only to have you for a moment, for that I would do anything."

She stiffened immediately.

Stiffened and grew cold, even as he held her. Drawing back against his embrace then, to eye him with the coldest fury.

"Do not say that, Branak." She said, tightly. "Because I would. I would name the thing. And you would do it."

"And I would have you." He said. "Do that thing and have you as well. So anything, I say."

Her eyes erupted with flame. A furious passion he would otherwise only dare to dream of.

"Then _kill _him!" She hissed. "_That _is what I require of you!"

He sighed harshly, closing his eyes tightly and turning his head away. Showing all the pain that such a thing should provoke in a man in his position.

"Sienae, I cannot. You know that I cannot."

"Then you do not love me as you claim." She said, bitterly. "And will you claim to love the Empire now? When you will not do this thing?"

"For what?" He demanded then. "For these accusations you make against him? How am I to know they are true?"

"Because I speak them!" She insisted. "I have seen and heard, with my own eyes and ears! And I tell you plainly that he is a _traitor _to the Empire! If that is not enough for you, then leave this room and let me grieve before I die."

Branak shook his head.

"It is not my place, Sienae." He said. "I cannot do what you ask."

"Not even for love? Not even for the woman you claim you desire?"

"Especially not for that. And who would I be to do such a thing for that? Would you love me still if I were that man?"

"Unless what I say is true. Unless that. And then I would love you and be right to. But only, Branak…but only if you kill him. For the Empire and for my love. _Then _I can love you as you would have me love you."

Branak struggled. Nearly trembling with it.

"Too much, Sienae. You tempt me too much…"

"I tempt your honor!" She insisted, furiously. "What else would I tempt? And you _resist?"_

"Are you certain, Sienae? Are you truly and perfectly certain of what you accuse?"

"More than any other thing, Branak. As certain as I am of the Empire itself."

And Branak allowed himself to be shocked at that.

Shocked that she'd _said _that! To compare her conviction to the Empire…it was simply astounding.

Staring at her, overwhelmed. Allowing her to know she'd struck deep and true.

And it was done. He could not remain unconvinced in the face of that. So he allowed himself to be persuaded.

"Very well." He said, stiffly. "I love you and I trust you, Sienae. So if you accuse the Admiral of treason, even on the honor of the Empire, then I must accept that. And if I must prove my love for it and for you by killing him…then I will do so."

She gripped his arms tightly in her hands. Letting _him _know now that he had struck deeply.

"Go to the Cargo Bay." He said. "Wait there for me. I will go and do what I must do."

She kissed him then. Still trembling, still in tears. But she kissed him passionately. Because he'd shown himself to be a man loyal to the Empire…who loved a woman too much.

* * *

><p>Branak found the Admiral on the bridge. Standing there, his uniform not at all properly tucked. A little slovenly, a little too casual. Far too amused with himself.<p>

Standing before the bridge officers, mocking the Starfleet vessel that pursued them. The one that had already so utterly destroyed their scout ship and prompted that hopeless, helpless transmission the Admiral had been far too quick to dismiss.

"Admiral Koval." Branak said, approaching him stiffly. At attention even as he came into his presence. Ever the dutiful officer and second.

Koval turned to receive him, smirking.

"Two days, Branak." He smirked. "Two days and still they follow us. What do you suppose they are thinking? That we do not notice them? Do they imagine they gain some secret intelligence observing us as they do?"

Branak almost sighed.

"No, Admiral." He said. "I think they are preparing to attack in some manner."

Koval laughed at that, waving that thought away as ridiculous. And surely it was ridiculous, wasn't it?

"Yes, of course." He sneered. "What else can they do? They cannot return to Proxima. And that system will be lost before they arrive, even following on our heels as they do. Perhaps we should turn aside and let them pass on ahead? Do them that small kindness before we find them with their comrades and destroy them there?"

"Or destroy them now." Branak suggested. "Do them _that _small kindness."

Koval snorted. And it was a somewhat disgusting snort. Far too wet, enough that Branak was tempted to step back for fear his uniform might be soiled.

"What is the pleasure in that?" Koval demanded. "Let them follow and witness the destruction we bring to their comrades. If they are too foolish to run away with their little ship, then let them stay and watch. Then we will destroy them."

So, of course. The Admiral would rather amuse himself with the Starfleet vessel that trailed them. Rather than deal with them before they could do whatever it was they intended to do.

He was indeed every bit the traitor to the Empire that Sienae had claimed. If not quite in the manner she had claimed, then at least in this way.

But Branak tilted his head a little, to show appreciation for Koval's great wisdom.

"As you say, Admiral." He conceded. "But there is a related matter that I think you should be aware of before you make your decision."

Koval grumbled, of course. Being beset by matters of duty in the midst of his humor like that.

"Yes, what?" He said, shortly.

Branak allowed a short glance around him. To convey…perhaps the matter might be better attended _away _from witnesses.

"Something that has just come to my attention." He said, suggestively. "Concerning that private matter we discussed earlier?"

Koval's eyes lit up. Which again was far too obviously an expression of delight and interest. To show what he was thinking in that way…it was almost shameful.

"I see." Koval said, smirking. "Very well."

Branak immediately stepped aside, allowing one hand to go out and open the way for the Admiral.

Coming directly behind to follow him as he passed by, his face perfectly blank. Not being nearly so foolish as to openly display what _he _was thinking.

The Admiral, amazingly enough, remembered protocol before he reached the door to exit the bridge. Remembered that leaving himself without protection of some sort was tantamount to announcing he wished to be assassinated over the ship's intercom system.

"Nevala!" He snapped, to the Praetorian standing at the command chair. "Do I need to walk more slowly, so that you have time to finish daydreaming?"

Commander Nevala was there long before he'd done barking at her. Standing at his side, waiting patiently for him to move again so that she could follow. Her hand on the disruptor pistol at her side, if only to remind everyone else that she hadn't forgotten her duty.

And she'd only delayed in order for him to call to her that way, valuing as she did such opportunities to force him to remember he required her service.

He had rather a terrible habit of behaving as if he weren't in constant danger of being killed.

* * *

><p>They arrived at the Cargo Bay doors, the Admiral already having grown eager to witness the thing Branak had brought him here to see. Very obviously eager, to any who might have cause to see that and recognize it for the exploitable weakness that it was.<p>

They entered the Cargo Bay, Commander Branak at his right side and Praetorian Nevala at his left.

And Koval was delighted to see he was right.

His sister was there, waiting for him. Already severally beaten. Brutalized enough that she had long since fallen to her knees, barely able to manage that much. Her wrists bound cruelly with plastic ties, already cutting into her flesh enough that she bled there as well.

She was still thankfully strong enough that he hadn't missed the best parts, though. So he would be on hand to witness her break before she was finally put out of her misery. Or put out of _his _misery, more accurately.

Koval smirked brightly as he strode forward, waving the two men aside who'd obviously spent the last few moments beating her.

"Well." He said, sadistically. "I have never been more pleased to see you, sister."

She spat, of course. Spat at his feet…and not coming anywhere close to landing a hit with that bloody green globule, as weak as she already was.

So that was all the more amusing. And he grinned openly at that, reveling in her utter failure.

He turned that grin on Branak then.

"She confessed everything?" He asked. "It has been recorded for the record?"

Branak tilted his head slightly again. Indicating polite regret.

"No confession as yet." He said. "But she has not been given that opportunity."

"Hmph." Koval snorted. "Then at least I can witness that myself."

He stepped forward a little more then, even if that did risk another attempt to spit upon him.

"So how long do you think it will take?" He asked.

He did not ask Commander Branak, though. He asked the beaten woman on the floor. Leaning forward, ever so slightly, and mockingly, to receive her reply.

And he spoke again, when she did not answer.

"How long, Sienae?" He demanded, gleefully. "Hm? An hour or two? Several, perhaps? I wouldn't underestimate these men, if I were you."

She said nothing, only remaining slumped over as she was, on her knees before the men who meant to torture her. And the brother she so hateful despised.

Koval snorted, dismissively.

"Well, let's see and find out." He said, gesturing for the men to continue as he stepped back to enjoy the show.

Commander Branak gestured as well, immediately after. Before the first man could do more than raise a fist.

"Hold." He said, twitching his hand aside to shoo the man back a step.

He stepped forward himself now, not quite so much at risk of being spat upon.

"I'm curious, Sienae." Branak said, thoughtfully. "You have claimed to love the Empire. And for this reason, you would have me kill your own brother. I have to wonder if this is really true. Would you kill him now, yourself? Even now, when all your lies are exposed?"

"Yes." Sienae hissed.

"Even now?" Branak said, quite impressed with that.

"Beat me as you will." Sienae seethed. "Torture me as you intend to. Kill me in shame before the entire crew, if you will. But I will still die imagining that his life ends with mine."

"And why is that?" Branak asked, smirking every bit as much as Koval had moment ago.

"Because he is _weak_." She hissed. "And now, in this critical moment, the Empire requires a strong leader to command this fleet. My brother shames me. I would rather _die _from that shame than live with it."

Branak mocked her openly now. "Ah, if only you could end that shame with your death."

"Yes," She said. "If only that."

And her sadness and regret, even beaten and bloodied as she was, remained quite obviously sincere.

And again, as secretly as ever before, Branak was moved by that.

So he nodded appreciatively.

And drew the disruptor from his side.

Aiming it at Admiral Koval, who had been foolish enough to trust him far too much and for far too long.

Not even caring that the Admiral wasn't looking at him and didn't see his death coming for him. Depressing the trigger before any man in the room had a hope of understanding what had happened.

The shot whined loudly enough to break the two torturers out of their oblivious focus, lost in imagining all the terrible things they would soon do to the bloody woman before them.

Not anywhere nearly quick enough for them to stop Branak from shooting the Admiral dead. Or even to so much as twitch before he hit the floor of the Cargo Bay in a smoking heap.

They did manage to tense in surprise only a moment after that. One of them even taking a quick, lunging step forward, despite not fully being aware of what he intended to do about all this. Neither man was armed and even the tools of torture were not readily at hand, rather on a table several steps away.

Praetorian Commander Nevala had her weapon drawn already, of course. She'd seen Branak reach for his weapon and had hers drawn less than a second later. Because she was a Praetorian and to be prepared for such things was practically the sum total of her existence.

Her life held room for little other than that. Her mind practically given over to the constant focus on protecting her charge. Her entire body devoted almost entirely to that end.

But all those small parts not given exclusively to that duty, those few little pieces of Nevala that were left free…all of those Branak had already claimed.

And that is why the torturers died, before they could move against him.

* * *

><p>Political Officer Vorian entered the singularity chamber ahead of Taibak. Both pausing for a moment when they arrived to look around casually.<p>

Pretending only a moment's passing curiosity to any who might have observed them enter the chamber. As they insured that no one, in fact, had observed them enter.

The chamber was empty, as it should be, so they continued the discussion they'd had in the corridor outside.

"You needn't worry about playing any part in this yourself." Taibak said. "You are the Political Officer. All you need do is witness Branak say plainly that he intends to kill the Admiral. I am certain I can manage to get him to say why as well, if you prefer that. To do so for the love of the man's sister…I think that will be sufficient enough that I am justified in killing him myself. And so you need only bear witness to that."

Vorian frowned, still uncertain about this plan. But he said nothing as Taibak led him to the access panel, opening it to reveal the short, darkly lit alcove that led to the central singularity containment cell.

"You could simply record the confession." Vorian suggested, eyeing the alcove distastefully. "I have recording devices…"

"This is too critical a thing." Taibak denied. "Such devices can be manipulated, recordings altered. I require your direct witness if I am do this, Officer. Now, I will bring Branak here to discuss my concerns. He will reason with me again, requiring him to make the same arguments he did before. And you will be on hand to witness that."

"Hiding in the access alcove." Vorian said, doubtfully.

"You can hear everything that occurs in the room from in there." Taibak assured. "Step in and see for yourself. The acoustics are perfect for this. Any engineer will tell you the same, relaying all manner of interesting conversations taking place in this chamber while attending to maintenance. Because, you see, no one can see you in there. And everyone comes _here _to discuss such things."

Vorian eyed the alcove again.

"I do not find myself comfortable with this plan, Taibak." He frowned. "Hiding in a dirty alcove. Hiding like a coward…"

"I do not find myself comfortable with any part of this at all." Taibak said, irritably. "And yet I have allowed you to involve me. Even doing so without the Admiral's awareness."

Vorian sighed.

"You have been very helpful, Taibak…"

"But apparently not enough that you are willing to suffer a passing moment's discomfort." Taibak continued. "Even if it will finally end this game we play and bring justice to Commander Branak."

Vorian frowned. And considered the alcove again.

"How long must I wait in there?" He asked.

"A few minutes at most." Taibak assured. "I am to meet Branak in the corridor very soon, then I will lead him in here to discuss the matter. Exactly as he will expect and approve. That is all that is required and we can finally be done with this."

Vorian eyed the alcove again. And he glowered, still not at all comfortable with this plan.

"Very well." He said, reluctantly.

Taibak already had the door swung wide for him, securing it back in place once he'd entered and made himself as comfortable as possible in the cramped, dirty space.

Taibak left the room, reentering the corridor outside as casually as he'd entered the chamber itself a moment before.

Seeing no one in the corridor to witness him standing there.

So he nodded slightly to the security camera above and to the right, to let the security officer there know that the matter was nearly concluded and that he should begin altering the recording now.

Because, as he'd said to Vorian, such devices could be easily manipulated and recordings just as easily altered.

He reentered the singularity chamber, moving directly to the alcove controls.

Tapping the buttons in a quick and accustomed manner, having performed this operation many thousands of times before in the course of his duties as ship's engineer.

Evacuating the alcove in preparation for routine maintenance. Opening the rear door of the short, cramped space to allow the magnetic field beyond to snatch every last particle of debris away. Clearing the entrance more thoroughly than any team of janitors could ever hope to.

Removing the Political Officer in this particular case. Snatching him from the alcove where he waited, sending him spinning through the field surrounding the singularity.

Spinning rapidly enough that his skin ripped and his lungs collapsed almost immediately. Dropping him in and through the field, after only an orbit or two at most. No more than half a second. In and through the field to the singularity within, where any trace of the Political Officer's existence instantly disappeared from the universe.

* * *

><p>Sienae watched, somewhat shocked, as Branak fetched an empty crate from nearby. Bringing it over to sit upon.<p>

To sit and face her where still she knelt, bloody and beaten.

"You killed him." She said, surprised.

"Of course I did." Branak smiled.

"But…I thought…" She stuttered. "But…why did you allow me to be taken? They _beat _me, Branak."

"I know." He said, sadly. "And I grieve a little that it had to be so."

Sienae put that immediately aside. It was a small matter, after all, and there were great things left to do for the Empire.

She raised her hands to him then.

"Free me, Branak." She said, eagerly. "Let us to go and lead this fleet to the glory the Empire demands of it."

Branak nodded thoughtfully.

"Us." He said, repeating that important part. "You say 'us', I notice. And rightfully so. That is the part you play in this, Sienae. Moving behind the curtain, whispering in ready ears. Taking a man into your bed and nudging him forward to seize the prize. While you remain ever in the shadows, orchestrating it all."

He saw the uncertainty visit Sienae again.

"Don't misunderstand." He rushed to explain. "That is good. I find I respect that, as I respect you all the more for it. It is the way that anyone truly loyal to the Empire _should _act. Let the glory be for the Empire, after all. Who are we to seek to claim any part of that glory?"

"Then…release me and let us go…"

"But…" Branak said. "Then there is love."

And he tsked a bit, to show his appreciation for that thorny and troublesome thing.

"Love…is a very strange thing." He said. "Consider that you tempted me with love. Tempted me that I would have killed the Admiral for _you_, rather than for the Empire. So you see…while effective, it is a difficult tool to wield with precision."

Sienae lowered her hands then. Already knowing she would not be freed, if not quite understanding why.

"Take Nevala, for example." Branak said, raising his own free hand to indicate her.

And Sienae dared to look there. Finding Nevala staring coldly down at her, hand resting comfortably on the pistol at her hip.

"Nevela loves." Branak said. "Can you tell? Most would never believe it to look at her. But she does love. And the man she loves…he loves her in return. Those two truly love the Empire first, though. So even their love serves it, because they insist that it do so. _Your _love, however…it serves itself, even as you try in vain to wield it to that good and proper service."

Sienae sighed a little.

"What are you to do with me, Branak?"

"Don't be concerned." Branak smiled. "I won't kill you. I won't force you to suffer death at the hands of a man you've bedded. But you did say that you would die to purchase Koval's death. And I believed you when you said that."

Branak stood again, tucking his shirt properly into place to stand tall before her.

Where still she knelt, hands bound. Bloodied and beaten.

"So. Love. A strange thing." He said. "Nevala loves me. And that is why she is filled with bitterness that we lay together, you and I. But because she loves me, she does not despise me for this. She sees instead a man worthy of love, that he would do that for the Empire. You, however…that is another matter."

Sienae looked at the Praetorian again. Beginning finally to suspect the negligible role she'd played in all of this. And perhaps the role she had yet to play.

She had accomplished nothing more here than to offer Branak an easy way to get the Admiral alone. Alone with no protection and no witness but two unarmed torturers and a Praetorian who'd already been compromised.

She looked up and saw that Nevala smiled coldly down at her then. Before she turned away to search among the fallen implements of torture, where they lay near the dead men at hand.

"You will serve the Empire, Sienae." Branak said. "In the only way I can trust you to. Satisfying the honor of this beautiful and noble woman. Who, I am sorry to say, I love and trust far more than I would ever be so foolish as to do so with you."

Nevala already returned, with the implement of her choice. And Sienae cringed despite herself.

"If you would serve the Empire," Branak suggested. "And I know that you would, Sienae. I would recommend allowing yourself to scream a bit. And begging for your life would not be misplaced. I know that this will satisfy Nevala all the more. And as it is to be she that stands beside me in doing exactly that which you have striven toward, your greatest service to the Empire would be to insure that she is satisfied."

Nevala snatched at her hair from behind, before she could even think to respond. Snatched her hair to throw her back to the floor of the Cargo Bay.

And she was on her instantly.

Sienae did indeed scream eventually. And she begged for her life once, before she began to beg for death.

But whether this was the result of the things that Nevala did to her or purely out of duty to the Empire…there was no way to know. And it was all the same to Nevala.

* * *

><p>Centurion Taibak exited the singularity chamber and yet again found no one in the corridor to witness him do so.<p>

He gestured subtly, a single slashing motion at his side with one hand, to let the security officer monitoring the situation know that it had been done. That he could finish up altering the recording at his leisure.

He made his way down the corridor, to the lift at the end of the section. Pressing the button, waiting patiently and entering the lift when it arrived.

Entering to stand beside Commander Branak and Praetorian Commander Nevala, who were already aboard.

No one spoke at first, until Nevala broke the silence.

"How is Vorian these days?" She asked.

"Who?" Taibak answered, immediately. "I'm certain that person does not exist."

Nevala chuckled at that.

"Perhaps I am mistaken then." She grinned.

They thoroughly enjoyed the situation, of course. But Branak sighed a little, not all amused as they were.

"I grow weary of these games." He said. "It would be better if they were not required."

Nevala snorted, already raising a hand to caress his shoulder.

"Peace, love." She said, still amused. "It would be _better _if you learned to _enjoy _the little things."

Branak remained dissatisfied, however.

"I will enjoy the destruction of every conceivable threat in the Proxima Centauri system." He said, grumpily. "So if you would have me enjoy something, my passion flower, then let's get to the bridge and see about accomplishing that."

Nevala grinned anyway. Because he was so very amusing when he was dour like that.

The lift stopped and the door opened, revealing the bridge.

And they stepped out, to find things there already settled.

The Tactical Officer, Nahir, was dead on the floor. Most of his head missing, in fact. At the comm station, his replacement was only just letting fall the fresh corpse of Avrak, who'd been the first shift communications officer up until only a moment before.

Two officers stood before the lift, with disruptor rifles trained on the doors. Trained on the lot of them as they stepped out, in fact. But they shifted their weapons away the moment they identified the Commander.

And they grinned in greeting.

"Commander." The man on the right reported, tossing his rifle casually on his shoulder. "The bridge is secured, sir."

Branak simply nodded, looking around at the carnage. Three bodies and no notable damage to the consoles and systems…so that was good.

"Clear the bodies." He ordered. "D'Tan, man the Tactical station. Telek, communications. I congratulate you both on your promotion to first shift bridge."

The two men chuckled, moving quickly to take their positions, very satisfied with how well it all had gone. At the Damage Control station, Evaste already stood smirking. At the Helm, Subcommander Haid. First shift bridge crew themselves, but already his. And so they'd done their part here as well.

Branak moved to the chair and took the seat.

Flicking a hand at Telek only a moment later.

"All sections report secured, Commander." Telek reported. "Minimal resistance and it has all been dealt with."

Branak nodded. As expected.

"Fleet wide channel, Telek."

Telek tapped easily at the console, nodding almost immediately.

Branak spoke then, across the air and through the secured fleet channel, to every bridge of every ship in the fleet at once.

"This is Commander Branak." He said. "I am pleased to report that Admiral Koval has been executed for treason. Charges including the unnecessary execution of Commander Beal, disloyalty to the Empire and general negligence of duty. I am taking command of the fleet, effective immediately. All ships are ordered to drop out of warp, maintain formation and await further orders. That is all."

He flicked his hand at Telek again, ending the communication…and sat back in the command chair comfortably.

"Action stations." Branak ordered.

"_Action stations! All hands to action stations! Assume condition one! Action stations!"_

Branak breathed deeply. Because everything he done for the last two weeks and all he'd planned and executed would come to fruition very soon.

"Now," He said, to the crew assembled around him. "Prepare yourselves."

And they did. Turning their attention to their duties with all the dedication and zeal that the Empire required of them.


	55. Chapter 55

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Captain's Ready Room, Deck A**

T'Pol allowed herself to relax. Allowed the pathways to open fully.

And immediately luxuriated in her reward for that. The deeply satisfying pleasure of his presence in and within the paths of her consciousness. Flowing and seeking, learning and finding his way around her nervous system. Identifying nodes and discovering new paths.

"Do you sense the wound?" She asked.

Her voice almost slurred, in fact. And she was mildly amused to find herself too comfortable and content even to speak with any precision.

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious. Jumps right out at you."

"Approach it…but do not touch it yet." She said, eyes closed. Very, very relaxed.

And he was there, flowing both easily and carefully in and among the pathways leading there.

"Along the periphery you will sense nodes of the sort we identified earlier. Aggravated and distressed…"

He'd already found them. Already ingratiating himself with them. Encouraging them, soothing them…

"That is good." She said. "Continue, until they are calm and functioning at peak efficiency. These are the nodes tasked with coordinating the effort of healing but they are prone to overexerting themselves. All that is required is to calm them. Redirecting energy there to strengthen them when they are able to utilize it more effectively."

She remained at ease. Observing, but not intervening. Allowing him full control, so that he could learn without distraction.

He learned well and quickly. Already she could sense a dramatic change in her body's response to the wound.

So she only observed, passively. Until she was confident that she was in good keeping.

"Trip." She said, lazily. "_Vu-katra_. The meaning of the word. You remember '_katra'_?"

"Mm hmm."

"_Vu-katra _means 'your soul'." She said. "That I was so easily able to connect with it, and you with mine, established that we had grown very close together. That I was safe with you and that intimacy with you was very desirable. That it had become possible for a bond to form. That is why I was so easily aroused. Not merely the desperation of the situation we faced."

Trip's amusement flowed warmly and quickly through her.

And it was wonderful.

"That's sort of what I figured." He said.

She nodded gently, still enjoying the feeling of his consciousness exploring her own.

And his humor peaked again suddenly.

"So…I have to ask." He said. "Just to be sure here. And I know you'll understand. But…I'm not going to get pregnant doing this, am I?"

And her own humor peaked then, before she could suppress it properly.

She grinned, ever so slightly. Not where he could see it, sitting behind her as he was. But he could feel it, she knew.

"No, Trip." She said, already putting the grin away where it belonged. "You will not get pregnant."

"Good to know." He chuckled.

The door chimed.

And T'Pol held her arms slightly away from her body, to allow Trip to pull her shirt back up, so that she could zip it properly back into place.

Surprised at herself a little, that she'd intuitively understood his intention to do that. And that she'd reacted so casually and comfortably in helping him to do it.

That she'd sensed his intentions through his touch, made her judgment concerning that and had moved in accordance with it…all without being consciously aware…this was very encouraging. A strong affirmation that a bond was indeed possible. The precursor to that very thing, in fact.

The shirt was in place and she was properly covered in only a moment. Both of them still sitting together on the floor.

"Come in." Trip said.

The door opened, revealing Doctor Andrews arriving from the main corridor. PADD in hand, looking serious and tense.

Stopping immediately in the process of stepping briskly into the room.

For obvious reasons.

"Uh…sorry, is this a bad time?" He asked, uncertainly.

Trip grinned, sitting on the floor behind T'Pol. Sitting very _closely _behind T'Pol.

"No, it's not what it looks like, doc. Come on in."

He rose to his feet to greet the doctor, allowing T'Pol to do the same once he was out of the way. Andrews glanced curiously between the two of them…but he visibly shrugging once Trip was on his feet.

"Okay, well…I noticed something you might be interested in." He said.

He presented the PADD to Trip. And waited once he'd accepted it, giving him time to look over the data.

T'Pol considered whether to approach the two of them then, to insinuate herself into the discussion. But their relationship had apparently already reached the point where she had become possessive and prone to asserting her dominance. So it was time to begin controlling that, before it became unmanageable.

To begin striving for a balance between mutuality and independence. To allow room for individuality while maintaining intimacy enough to encourage a bond. And they had yet to discuss bonding in the first place. She was certain he had only the vaguest understanding of that entailed, if he understood anything about it at all.

So she wandered casually back to the desk instead, to review the data on Romulan Warbirds, leaving him to his duties as Captain.

Listening to the conversation taking place, of course. But not intruding directly, at least.

Trip frowned at the PADD, looking it over carefully.

"What am I looking at here, Andrews?"

"Comparative medical scans and life sign sensor readings." Andrews said. "Your typical Vulcan versus the ones on the _Vahklas_."

Trip had already seen this, of course. Already spotting the subtle differences. Because Andrews had actually highlighted them for him.

And he frowned all the more.

"I knew those guys weren't your typical Vulcans, but this almost looks like genetic modification."

"That's what I thought at first." Andrews hastened to correct. "But I don't see any particular reason for it. Nothing worth going through all the trouble of genetic modification. Except…the neurological differences here are almost enough that I'd have trouble merely classifying them as an unknown race of Vulcan.

"Usually if you compare different _races _to one another, all you'll find are a few basic cosmetic differences. Rarely anything significant at all. Like, say, comparing your average Mongoloid and Caucasoid Human. You could look at genetic code and life sign signatures all day long and not be able to tell the difference. You'd almost have to _see _them to classify by race, because it's all cosmetic…

"Yeah, I know all that, doc." Trip said. "Get to the point."

"Well…the thing is…Vulcans are even more racially homogenized than we are. They only have three races that are still distinguishable from one another enough to even be classified, where we still have five. And one of those three is even the newer homogenized race itself. So it's all the _more _impossible to tell the difference between one Vulcan race or the other from nothing but genetic code and sensor readings. But _these _Vulcans…the differences jump right out at you, once you start seeing them."

Trip returned his attention to the PADD again. Examining it critically, while Andrews waited.

"A whole new _subspecies _of Vulcan." Trip said, eventually. "Which raises a lot of questions, considering the circumstances."

"Like why are these illogical Vulcans all from this same new subspecies that no one's ever heard of before." Andrews said. "And why they were all working for the Romulans. I don't even know where to begin with this, Captain. It doesn't make any sense at all."

"Andrews." Trip said, carefully. "I can't tell you what to do with this information. You're the ship's physician and the chain of command's a little fuzzy when it comes to what medical reports you submit. But I'm going to give you some advice. And I really think you should take it."

Andrews found himself surprised at that. It wasn't quite the response he'd expected here. He'd expected Trip would be as curious and excited as he was. And that they might be able to examine some of the very disturbing things this suggested.

But this sounded like a warning. It sounded, in fact, like the Captain already knew more about this than Andrews would have thought. Certainly more than _he _knew.

So he nodded, once he got over that initial shock. And he listened to what Trip had to say.

And Trip nodded back when he saw that.

"Write your reports." Trip said. "Include all the information. Life sign signatures, medical scan readings. Even tissue samples and whatever else you've got. But don't speculate on anything. Don't suggest questions that need to be answered. Don't even hint that you've noticed anything unusual. Just include all the information and let it speak for itself. Don't add _anything _to it. Then tag it to Starfleet Intelligence, seal it and forget about it."

Andrews frowned, troubled.

"Alright, sir." He nodded. "Now tell me why."

"Because either this is something no one knows and hasn't been discovered yet," Trip said. "Or it's something that only a few people know and those few people are very interested in making sure no one _else _knows about it. If it's the one, then Starfleet Intel will bump it over to Medical. If the other, then someone's going to come knock on your door one day. And they'll want to know how big a problem you're going to be about all this."

Trip handed the PADD back. And Andrews took it…with a notable degree of hesitation.

And he considered the PADD himself now, brow furrowed.

"I take it…you have some experience with that sort of thing, Captain?" He asked.

Trip snorted. "I worked with those guys for a while. Not just federal enforcement and Interpol. They can be every bit as ruthless as they are in the movies, doc. Trust me on that one. If this is something you're not supposed to know, then submitting it to them first will buy you some slack. Enough that they'll stop and actually consider whether you're a problem or not, instead of just assuming you are. They're not unreasonable, but you do have to actually give them a reason not to come after you. In fact…you could probably ask T'Pol about that."

Over at the desk, still reviewing the data on Romulan ship capabilities, T'Pol didn't wait to be asked her opinion.

"I recommend heeding Captain Tucker's advice." She said.

And she didn't say anything more than that. Because it wasn't necessary.

"Right." Andrews said, frowning. "Suddenly I feel really great about all this. I'm so very glad I stopped by to talk to you about it, Captain."

Trip grinned.

"Don't worry." He said. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Or…well, yeah, it _is _as bad as it sounds. But like I said, they're not unreasonable. Just let them do their job and make sure you don't _become _the job. Get what I'm saying?"

Andrews nodded.

"Right." He said. "I get it."

So that was that then.

But T'Pol had injected her opinion on the matter. And that had served to remind him she was right over there, overhearing everything that was said.

And there was an issue that needed to be addressed there as well.

"So, look, Captain." Andrews said, casually. With only the slightest wary glance in T'Pol's direction. "While I'm here…I'd like to talk to you about something else."

Trip shrugged.

"Sure. Go ahead." He said.

"In private, actually." Andrews stipulated. With a slight nod at the door behind him. After another unintentional, and wary, glance at T'Pol.

"Right." Trip grinned, casting only a short glance back at T'Pol himself before nodding to Andrews in return. "No problem. Lead the way."

Doctor Andrews tapped the panel, stepping out through the door back into the main corridor outside.

And Trip followed him.

And T'Pol, of course, walked right over to the door to eavesdrop the moment it closed. Because she was a highly trained intelligence officer and it had been as plain as day to her that whatever the Doctor intended to discuss involved her directly.

The Human might as well have loudly announced that fact. He had, in fact, practically done so.

Outside, Andrews cut to the chase quickly. Because the discussion that had just occurred emphasized how this wasn't just something he didn't want to know about…it was something the _Captain _needed to know.

"Alright," He said, once he had Trip's attention. "Remember how I said I checked the _Vahklas _Vulcans against typical Vulcan medical scans and life sensor signatures?"

Trip nodded. Because that had been maybe half a minute ago. So of course he remembered.

"Well, I didn't just do that." Andrews said. "I checked them against _actual _scans and signatures. Just to be thorough. I checked them against _our _Vulcans. T'Pol, Tulok and T'Lea."

"Okay." Trip nodded. "So?"

"So…nothing at first. Tulok and T'Lea were more or less your typical, average Vulcan, at least in general. I had a bit more information to work with, but I didn't learn anything new. It just corroborated what I already had."

Trip was frowning already, so Andrews got right to the point.

"Captain…the thing is…T'Pol's medical scans…they have a lot more in common with the _Vahklas _Vulcans. Practically identical in a lot of ways."

"So what are you saying, Andrews?" Trip asked impatiently.

"Sir…whatever this new subspecies is," Andrews said. And he hesitated before finishing that sentence. "Whatever they are, T'Pol's one of them. At least, to a large degree. Maybe even a half-breed between the Vulcan homogenized standard and this other…"

"Meaning what?" Trip snapped.

"Maybe nothing." Andrews said, shrugging uncomfortably. "Maybe this subspecies isn't even new. If T'Pol's a hybrid then they must exist on Vulcan. One of her parents or grandparents had to be one. But if they _aren't _new…why haven't we ever heard of them? And why aren't they mentioned anywhere in my entire medical database?"

Trip was silent for a moment.

And…angry at him, Andrews was surprised to realize.

Or maybe not angry. Maybe…_defensive_.

"Sir…" Andrews started.

"I'll look into it." Trip said, stiffly. "I'll ask T'Pol about it directly. And I'm wondering why we're talking about this in the corridor when we could have stayed in the ready room and asked her ourselves, doc."

"I'm just being careful, sir." Andrews said, shrugging himself now. "I don't know what's going on here and maybe I don't want to know, like you said. So…I'm telling you. And you can do what you like about it. Feel free not to inform me of what you find out, if you think it's something I shouldn't know about either. But I just thought you ought to know."

Trip kept frowning for a second or two more.

Then snorted and grinned a little instead.

"Alright, fine." He said. "I'll take care of it. And if you don't hear back from me then you can go ahead and forget about it. Sound good?"

"Sounds great to me, sir." Andrews answered, quickly.

"Okay." Trip nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it, sir. And I should get back to sickbay. I still have a lot of…"

"Right. Go ahead."

Andrews nodded and departed. Back to sickbay and the not knowing of things he didn't want to know. And with no more delay than necessary either.

Trip waited in the hall for minute more though. Considering much the same thing. Whether T'Pol should know this and, since she obviously should, how in the world he was going to tell her.

Eventually giving the matter a mental shrug. Because he'd just have to wing it and hope for the best.

He turned and reentered the ready room. And he found her standing at the viewport, staring at the stars flying by.

Standing not at all comfortably. Her hands tucked at her back, as they usually were, but she seemed…

Well, right. Of course.

Vulcans and their super hearing powers.

"You heard." Trip guessed. Not that it wasn't obvious.

She didn't answer right away, just staring out at the stars instead. But soon enough…

"Yes." She said, quietly. "And while it is not entirely unexpected, it remains…disturbing."

Trip moved immediately, trying to head off…whatever this was exactly.

"T'Pol, it doesn't change who you are." He said, quickly. "It doesn't change anything at all."

She turned to face him then. And, yes, she clearly was disturbed by this.

She was practically being emotionally expressive over there.

"Logically, no." She admitted, sadly. "But it explains many things and removes the possibility of continuing to harbor any illusion that I am truly Vulcan. My father was Romulan. I can never be fully Vulcan."

So, yeah. That was the thing he'd been trying to head off. And he'd never had the opportunity to. It had already set in before he even walked back in the room.

Damage done, then. So only one thing to do.

The very same thing she'd done for him.

He went to her. To stand with her and touch her tenderly on the cheek and neck. Despite the sudden widening of the eyes that provoked in her, before she remembered she was allowed to accept that from him.

"What you are," He said firmly, still holding her cheek. "Is fully _T'Pol_. And that makes you a brilliant, strong, capable woman who's so mind numbingly beautiful that I knew I was in trouble the second you stepped off the shuttle."

She met his eyes for a moment, before shying away a little. Still unsure whether she wanted to be comforted here.

But she did appreciate the gesture, so…

"I appreciate that, Trip." She said. "But your use of…'pick up lines' is perhaps misplaced here. I am already 'picked up'."

He chuckled at that. And it was a relief how she chose to employ humor as she had. It was a clear signal, intended to let him know she wasn't quite as completely devastated as she might have seemed.

Just _mostly _devastated.

"I'm surprised you even know what a pick up line is." He smiled.

"I have experienced it often in association with emotional species. Especially Humans."

"I bet." He said. "And that wasn't a pick up line."

He jerked a thumb and a tilted of his head slightly back behind him, vaguely in the direction of the still overturned display table.

"You see my friend over there at the bar?" He asked. "He wants to know if you think I'm cute."

T'Pol paused, to be sure she'd heard him correctly. Then glanced uncertainly over at the remains of the display table.

There was no friend of Trip's there. Nor any particularly notable bar.

So she gave him the eyebrow. To offer him the opportunity to realize what he'd just said was entirely irrational.

"Excuse me," He said then. "But do you think we might have a mutual friend who could introduce us?"

T'Pol cocked her head a bit at that, to reinforce the eyebrow.

What was he talking about…?

"You must be an interior decorator." He said. "When you walked in the room the whole place became beautiful."

"I'd buy you a drink but I'd be jealous of the glass." He added.

"You're the reason men fall in love." He continued. "You know, you might be asked to leave. You're making the other women in here look bad. Apart from being painfully sexy, what do you do for a living? Hi, I'm Trip. Would you mind if I flirt with you for a minute? Hey, would you mind smiling at me for a second? I'm trying to make the other guys in here jealous. Hi, my name's Trip. How do you like me so far? I was over at the bar thinking how…"

"Trip, what are you talking about?" T'Pol finally asked.

"Pick up lines." He grinned. "Those are pick up lines. Letting you know that I started falling in love with you the moment you stepped off that shuttle…that's something that actually happened. So whether you're part Romulan or part Klingon or _whatever_. I don't care and neither does anyone else. We're all just glad you're who you are, T'Pol."

She only stared at him.

And she kept staring.

Until Trip was forced to consider…maybe he wasn't as charming as he thought. Or, God forbid, maybe T'Pol was just impossibly immune to it somehow.

Which would be bad.

Because he might be in real trouble in this relationship…

"Sorry." He said, shyly. "I just thought that…"

"No." She hastened to assure. "That was very effective. I am simply unprepared at times for how easily you are able to manipulate me."

"Oh." Trip said, somewhat surprised.

And then…

"Is…that good or bad?"

"Good, typically." T'Pol said, thoughtfully. "But it may illustrate that I am at a significant disadvantage in this relationship."

Trip just stared.

Until T'Pol began to be concerned.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing." Trip said, hastily. "Nothing at all."

T'Pol eyed him doubtfully.

"Are you certain? You seemed to considering something…"

"No, nothing." He denied.

T'Pol looked…suspicious.

And truth be known, though she would not have preferred that truth to be known, she again lamented that they had not yet bonded. And that it would be many months until they did, assuming they ever did at all.

Because he wouldn't be able to keep whatever secret he kept from her then if they were bonded.

She was fairly certain it was a humorous secret, after all. And that it involved her. So of course she would much prefer to know it.

So she set out on the long process of wresting that secret from him in the more mundane manner.

"Trip…" She began.

Then the subtle background hum of the warp field flowing through the ship suddenly faded.

Faded and quickly gone. The stars outside the viewport sliding into place as well. Singular points of light now, rather than the elongated lines they were a moment before…

"_Bridge to the Captain."_

Trip almost sighed in relief. He knew what was coming and there was no _way _he was going to admit she'd just verbalized exactly the same thought he'd had himself. Concern that he might be in over his head in this relationship.

Because whatever she'd said, he knew very well that he was. And if she weren't quite aware of that yet, then he'd be an idiot to go right ahead and clue her in himself.

But they'd just dropped out of warp. And that meant…

He tapped the Sisco unit at his belt with all haste.

"Captain, go ahead Benning."

"_Sir, you better get out here."_

Trip spared T'Pol an intense look, which she shared right back with him. And they were to and through the door in only a moment.

Benning was at the command console and everyone was tense. So whatever it was, Trip could see already that it was serious.

"Whatcha got, Benning?" Trip asked, coming to stand at the station himself.

Benning pointed out the obvious on the console…before glancing over at T'Pol when she suddenly arrived.

Then giving her a solid double take when he realized…yes, she actually _was _taking position at the console. As if she belonged there. Or anywhere else on the bridge.

"Excuse me, Commander." Benning said, firmly.

Meaning, obviously, go away. You shouldn't be here.

"It's fine, Benning." Trip said, from the other side of him. "Why did they stop?"

Benning almost hesitated…but, no, the situation wouldn't be well served arguing about T'Pol being on the bridge. Specifically standing at the _command console_…

"I don't know, sir." He said. "They all just dropped warp out of nowhere. Now they're just sitting there. I'm pretty sure we stopped in time, so I doubt they've spotted us. Unless they already did and that's _why _they dropped warp."

"Action stations." Trip ordered quickly, over his shoulder to Roscoe, on Tactical.

"_General quarters. All hands, action stations. This is not a drill."_

Trip searched the board before him, looking for some clue. Sensors were passive but nothing notable there. Tactical had the whole fleet zeroed and nothing had changed…

One warning highlight popped up on one of the ships though…the Warbird in the rear, one of the two command ships…

They'd just extended shields and powered weapons.

And…they were turning. Coming about, he thought at first. Coming about to come for _them_. So had they finally been spotted…?

He had his mouth opened to issue the order. Go combat. But then he noticed.

The Warbird wasn't turning around. It was simply turning to starboard.

Accelerating…and firing now. Missiles flinging out wildly…cannons as well, once they got close enough.

Close enough to the _other _command ship back there. Both of those command Warbirds manuveuring now, firing on one another. He could see the status reports already reflecting that. Shields being whittled down, light structural damage already…

Benning said what he was thinking, so he didn't have to.

"What the hell…?" He said.

And Trip had to agree. Yes, what the hell indeed.

Two more ships suddenly lit up. One in the second starboard position in that top left pack. Another toward the rear in the pack on the far right. That one turning to swing alongside the attacking Warbird. Adding its missiles to the mix, firing on the second command ship as well.

Then all the ships starting lighting up. Most of them immediately going after those two Birds of Prey trying to support the attacking Warbird…two more now apparently either having pretended to at first or suddenly changed their minds, attacking the ship next to them out of nowhere instead…

"T'Pol…?" Trip asked, uncertainly. "What the hell are we looking at here?"

T'Pol stood across from Benning, watching the battle break out among the ships of the Romulan fleet.

She knew immediately. It was obvious.

But she raised an eyebrow at it anyway, because it was a curious thing to witness nonetheless.

"Romulan politics." She decided. "I suspect there has been a change of command."


	56. Chapter 56

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Trip watched the fight kick off out there. And it was immediately obvious that it wasn't going to last very long.

One of the command Warbirds and maybe three or four of the Birds of Prey were pitching for one side…against the whole rest of the fleet.

This wasn't a fight. This was the Romulans doing their suicide thing. Only against their own people now.

He leaned against the command console with his one good hand, staring down at the calculated madness going on up ahead. Turned just so and slightly, to keep his wounded arm at his center. Having learned _that _lesson at least.

"Well, I don't know about you guys," He said, "But I know a miracle when I see one. We go now."

They weren't prepared but…the opportunity had just been handed right to them.

And he'd promised T'Pol…

"Benning, man your station." He said grimly.

He was already on his way to do that though, practically jumping there.

"Go combat, hull and weapons." Trip ordered. "Steel, full impulse, orient on the fleet. Down z-axis hard, maintain orientation, as soon as you see them shift on us. You know what to do."

"_All hands, combat stations. This is not a drill."_

As the _Tempest's _impulse engines flared and she darted forward, moving to join the fight going on up ahead, Trip watched the attacking command Warbird push on toward her counterpart, absorbing missile after missile. Going head to head with her sister ship, with half the fleet sitting there right beside her. Spitting a hail of green, flaming rage along her path as she passed by.

Her shields failing, falling…gone. Pushing forward anyway, covering the two Birds of Prey that had joined her now. Already accepting, even embracing, her destruction. Hull breaches, a sudden power failure, a hiccup in propulsion that almost stopped her charge…pushing forward, trailing smoke and flame already…still keeping up a steady stream of fire herself, even with only one forward missile battery left.

Until that battery was gone…and she leapt forward all the more eagerly, at full speed…intent now on _ramming _the other command ship before she died.

The _Tempest _hit full impulse, max speed. Weapons hot, shields extended, hull polarized. Everyone ready and on station, at the bridge and throughout the ship herself.

Approaching 800,000 kay from the fleet already.

Up ahead, near the far right edge of the now scattered fleet, Trip watched that one lone Bird of Prey out there whirl and spit. Diving in and among her sisters, artfully dodging nearly all of the hundred or more missiles thrown at her from all sides. Taking hits, an easy dozen of them in half as many seconds…but still on the move. Still fighting back, answering with her own missiles.

She didn't fight with desperation. Nor with panic or any sense of hopelessness. That ship was focused. Intent entirely on staying alive as long as possible and doing all the damage she could before she died.

And doing an amazing job of it.

Staying _inside _the fleet. On _purpose_. Twisting and climbing, diving and turning…staying in and among them so that every missile she dodged and every shot taken against her without a perfect firing solution risked every other ship in the fleet.

My God, even performing a perfect barrel roll attack on the one Bird of Prey she had picked out of the furball for her target. Evading a half dozen missiles in the process, swooping in on a graceful cross turn, laying down a full barrage against the Bird…before the flaming, shooting star she had become finally calved and broke among the fleet like a handful of smoking coals.

But she'd damned near taken out that one Bird of Prey she'd been focused on. Just a couple more hits and she _would _have…

Trip found himself breathless watching that. And he was tempted to take notes.

That would be the _Tempest _soon, if they were very lucky.

But the glaringly obvious…the bright flaming super nova obviousness here…was that conscripted soldiers or not…cheap, disposable ships and crap technology or not…

These guys were scary as hell. They weren't afraid of dying. They weren't even afraid of losing. They _loved _it. So long as it hurt their enemy even just a little, they'd die gladly.

And die _well_. Because they were very, very good at it.

That was the completely unfunny joke here. He had an enemy before him that was very good at dying. He should be happy. But they were _so _damned good at dying that they threatened to kill everything else around them in the process of it.

He did the math quickly and had the numbers in less than a second. Just as the attacking command Warbird finally disintegrated under a withering hail of an easy fifty fission missiles from all directions.

There were only two Birds of Prey left now, the ones who'd just lost the advantage of a command Warbird taking half their hits for them. Already in bad shape themselves, with the whole fleet turning their attentions on _them _now.

This fight wasn't just going to be over quickly…it was already over.

And it had only been ten seconds.

If they were going to take advantage of this at all, then they had maybe ten more to gain ground on that fleet in order to do it. Because the fight was already over.

600,000 kay and closing.

_Maybe _they'd make it…

He tapped the comm at his belt, ready to make his announcement. The one he only now realized how much he really dreaded making.

"This is the Captain." He said. "We're making our move. Harrison, get to the armory if you aren't already. Load the missiles. We're ready for this, people. Stay focused, stay sharp and I'll see you on the other side."

That was all. Short and simple.

And besides…

…those ten seconds were already up.

"Crowley, warm up Mayhem." He said, sparing an intense glance at the Engineering station. "Be ready and be quick."

Turning his attention back to the command console, he called forward the tactical display of the fleet. Designating targets. Even as he watched the situation report from the corner of his eye. The _Tempest _still on the move, sprinting madly toward the fight.

Which maybe made them every bit as crazy as the Romulans.

They were 500,000 kay from the fleet already, closing as quickly as Steel could manage. Full impulse, charging forward just as the Warbird had against her own sister ship just moments ago.

"Target designations." He said, speaking to the console itself now. Turning his main attention there again, tapping at the ships on his console display. "Pack Alpha, Beta, Gamma…Warbirds Alpha, Beta, Gamma…Birds of Prey Alpha One, Alpha Two…Command Warbird, priority target…"

Tapping the ships in the fleet ahead, until the computer picked up the logical next designation in sequence from his prompts and filled in the blanks. Until they were all clearly identified and shared with all bridge stations.

Then tapping the console again, rapidly…still left handed. Still turned slightly to one side.

Making room for T'Pol, who had already moved in to stand at his side. Intuiting his intentions as he moved, shifting controls around the console so that everything he needed would be in easy reach of his left hand. Even opening and closing the target designation window for him, so he could keep a close eye on the tactical display, not missing anything.

But he called up a secondary tactical station along the right side of the command console. Shifting command controls entirely to his side, within reach.

Tossing the whole tactical control scheme over to her side of the console with a quick flick of the wrist.

He smiled over at her then.

"I really do need a right hand just now, darlin'." He said, softly. "But I need a second tactical officer even more. What do you say?"

T'Pol simply nodded, already prepared to do her part before he even finished. Moving quickly herself to modify the holographic control interface to something more comfortable for her.

Already picking her targets.

"Benning, you're starboard tactical." He announced. "T'Pol, port side. Set it up, coordinate your attacks whenever you can."

He pored over the display before him again, absorbing the information.

Hull polarized, shields extended, weapons hot. Full impulse, approaching 400,000 kay now. And the Romulan fleet must surely see them coming now, if they hadn't already…

Most of them over there were already hurt. More than a few at half shields, the rest at least having had the edge worn off a bit. Some minor structural damage here and there, a few with actual hull breaches.

One in the back there had even lost propulsion. Two without weapons and one without operations control at all.

And all that from just _five _of them deciding to go down swinging against the other twenty-seven.

They'd all be busy jury rigging that right about now, if they saw them coming. Which Trip was perfectly sure that they did.

"Alice, online."

"_Hello, Trip. I see you're engaging the Romulan fleet. Would you like me to assume control of security operations?"_

"Yes, Alice. Thank you. Stand by to repel boarders, keep the ship."

"_Understood, Trip. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like victory."_

* * *

><p>"Tactical, report." Branak ordered.<p>

"The _tr'Khellian _is destroyed." D'Tan reported, from the Tactical Station. "The _Haudr, Fvai _and the _Deihu _have been destroyed. _Vriah Thrai _is still attempting to reach us but is unable. She may attempt a warp core breach, but…ah, never mind, Commander. The _Vriah Thrai _has been destroyed."

Branak grinned.

It had gone much better than he'd expected. And the fight those few dissidents had put up…that had been glorious.

His chest fairly swelled with pride. By the Empire, if _he _could only die as well as they…!

"Brave and honorable men." He said, proudly. "Consider yourself fortunate to see this, all of you. Few are afforded that without..."

"The Starfleet vessel is on approach, Commander." D'Tan interrupted. "800,000 units and closing at full speed."

Branak looked there in surprise, confirming at a shared glance with the Tactical officer that he'd heard correctly.

He'd assumed they meant to attack somehow, of course. Otherwise their following them for so long made no sense at all. But…to do so that quickly?

That suggested what he feared may be true.

He shared a look with Nevala then, where she stood at the Weapons Station. Both of them knowing already what this meant.

These weren't Romulans. They were weak willed Humans. They _feared _death and did whatever they could to avoid it. For the Human ship to approach _now_, seizing advantage of the chaotic state the fleet was in at the moment, it meant they at least _hoped _to survive somehow…

Hoped to survive against _his entire fleet_.

That could only mean they were every bit as dangerous as he'd suspected. That the things hinted at in the garbled transmission from Subcommander Chavek…

There was a danger here. He was not so foolish as to ignore that. Admiral Koval had done that and he'd died for it.

"Telek, call the fleet to reform." He ordered, quickly. "Haid, bring us in. Command position, forward and high. D'Tan, coordinate with _Sei _pack. Send them to intercept, all possible speed. Keep that vessel away from the fleet."

Branak left the chair to stand in the middle of the bridge. Leaning and staring down intently at the tactical display table there.

The fleet was tight but unformed.

The Starfleet ship already approaching 300,000 units.

He could see that _Sei _pack wasn't coordinating quickly enough. They were more cohesive than any _other _pack at the moment…and the _Deihu _had been one of theirs. So, short one Bird of Prey and still uncoordinated, but well motivated to redeem the honor of the pack.

And they deserved that chance. So it was a good choice.

They finally formed up and lunged outward, going for the Starfleet vessel. Four Birds of Prey, their Warbird leading the charge.

But Branak found that to be far too close for comfort. He could _feel _the threat, watching that ship making the mad dash that it did.

Coming for his fleet far too boldly. Far too determined.

* * *

><p>Trip watched the Romulan fleet suddenly shift…moving to reform.<p>

And one pack, designated Epsilon, breaking away…

So the Romulans saw them coming already. 300,000 kay out still with a whole pack already preparing to come and greet them.

Or…not a _whole _pack. Epsilon Three had been one of the suicide ships, so they were short one. It just remained to be seen if that mattered. If they could just get there quickly enough…

"Give it everything you've got, Steel." Trip urged, his one good hand clenched at the edge of the console.

250,000 kay…

200,000...

Epsilon pack was still reforming, only just beginning to break away in earnest to come for them…

150,000...

Trip could already see…they were _almost _going to make it before they ran face first into that pack coming for them. Almost, but not quite…

Max impulse, plus a little more Steel had drawn from God knows where…but it wouldn't be enough. They'd have to punch through that pack to get there.

The tactical report blinked at the top left of his console. T'Pol, already lighting up the Warbird leading the pack, just off their port approach. Lighting them up…locking on…at over 100,000 kay. Benning doing the same, right behind her.

A half dozen more startled reports from Tactical now. Those incoming birds, locking on to the _Tempest _in return.

So this was it, Trip thought. This is where we all get blood on our shoes.

* * *

><p>100,000 units out and still coming. The Starfleet vessel was little more than 80,000 from <em>Sei <em>pack, who'd intercept them at under 50,000 at this rate.

That would put them roughly at the effective range of the pulsed phase cannons Starfleet used on those ships. And the fleet had been within effective range of their torpedoes for a while already.

Branak grimaced in disgust. But it was the only wise thing to do.

"Orders to fleet." He snapped, over his shoulder. "Ahead half speed, hold formation."

It was almost despicable, but his choices were rather limited. Stand there and let this one lone ship take a shot at his fleet, bringing the entire fleet _against _that one lone ship…or move them away from the fight, almost like a coward.

But he dreaded it still. Whatever drove this one small ship to come against his entire fleet this way…he dreaded that.

These Humans weren't typically insane. That ship could make warp five easily. Warp _six_, if intelligence was correct. They could practically fly rings around his fleet before flashing away to Proxima, leaving them to gnaw bitterly at their warp trail.

This wasn't normal Human behavior. That was the hard fact here.

And that is why his blood ran cold.

* * *

><p>T'Pol waited, patient and alert.<p>

Finger on the button, solution locked.

There was no point in wasting ammunition, nor in wasting crucial seconds waiting for torpedoes to reload and cannons to recharge. They were outnumbered and risking even the smallest opportunities would not be logical now. So she'd done the math and made all the appropriate calculations. Determined the most effective course of action here.

Target at 90,000 kilometers. The Epsilon Warbird, leading four Birds of Prey behind it in a diamond formation. Coming to intercept the _Tempest_, to keep her from reaching the fleet.

They already had the _Tempest _locked in, ready to fire themselves, and they held their fire as well. The optimal effective range of their missile batteries being 10,000 kilometers, T'Pol knew that she could fire torpedoes now…and _still _bring all weapons to bear again when the Warbird breached the _Tempest's _own optimal phase cannon range…

So she did. Because that was perfectly logical.

All three forward torpedo bays flashed as she depressed the holographic button. The blue flares of Mark I IF photon torpedoes leaping out to seek the incoming Warbird. Moving almost slowly, with the _Tempest _still coming in right behind them at maximum impulse as she were.

Spread just so and precisely, to encourage either a sharp, poorly controlled evasion to port or suffer at least two strikes from the incoming ordnance.

Target at 40,000 kilometers.

Her left hand brushed the console, calling up and accessing the finer targeting controls. Focused on the targeting display, ready for when the Warbird evaded so that she could maintain the lock…

The Warbird drifted slightly, banking just a little to port. Choosing to take the hit so that she could maintain lock on the _Tempest _herself.

At 9,500 kilometers, precisely as she'd calculated.

The new solution already laid in, with nothing but a graceful flick of the targeting reticule and a quick press to confirm.

Three more flaring blue photon torpedoes on their way, directly into the Warbird's new, and entirely anticipated, trajectory.

Four of the _Tempest's _five forward pulsed phase cannons lancing out now as well. Striking along the forward shields of the Warbird as she approached, just precisely before those first two torpedoes from the initial salvo struck.

The Warbird's shields flaring, just a moment before the torpedoes breached. Their casings collapsing on impact with their shields, driving through them. Matter and antimatter components colliding, exploding if not in _direct _contact with the hull then at least close enough to _hurt_…

And opening a path for the three other torpedoes she'd just fired.

A brilliant blue trio of torpedoes driving through the weak spot in the Warbird's shields before they could recover…all three breaching, driving through, impacting directly against the hull…

And the Warbird burned. Coming across to starboard, less than 2,000 kilometers away…moving directly into Benning's line of fire, just as she'd encouraged them to.

The Warbird had already fired, along with all four of the Birds of Prey at her flanks. Those missiles flying forward to greet the _Tempest_, with Steel on the Helm barely bothering to evade. Wasting no forward movement that he couldn't spare in his attempt to reach the main fleet as quickly as they possibly could.

The tactical report on her side of the console flickered, displaying the updated status on the Warbird.

Shield 87%. Hull integrity 62%. Hull breach forward and low.

"Damn, T'Pol." Trip muttered appreciatively, even as focused as he was on the engagement overall.

That was gratifying.

But then the fission missiles struck.

* * *

><p>The command ship climbed, darting sharply into position high and ahead of the fleet. The fleet itself forming up again at last and the lot of them moving forward now.<p>

Moving away from the approaching Starfleet vessel.

Not gaining any ground on them, but at least delaying the ship from reaching them before _Sei _pack could destroy them.

They were 49,000 units away now. Well within their most effective torpedo range and just barely inside that of their phase cannons. But that wasn't what Branak feared though. It was one ship against an entire Romulan fleet. Those weapons would afford them next to nothing.

He watched the ship on the tactical display. Watched the data flow by, detailing everything that occurred. Watched as the Warbird fell prey to its own eagerness, suffering nearly half a dozen hard strikes from Starfleet torpedoes and a further three more from phase cannons.

The Human ship didn't even slow. Barely evaded and not at all effectively. One of the Birds of Prey failed to get a lock and missed with all shots, but the other four ships…the Starfleet vessel just took the hits. Practically drove right into them.

Eight fission missiles at optimal range. All of them striking, bursting brilliantly on the ship's forward shields…

So, shield _and _hull polarization. Starfleet was finally catching up with the rest of the galaxy, it seemed.

It wasn't enough. It wouldn't _be _enough. And though it explained some small part of the Human's behavior here…they were at least a little tougher than other Starfleet vessels Branak had encountered and destroyed…it still did not explain what he was seeing here.

These Humans were fighting like Romulans.

He scowled.

"Orders to fleet." He said. "Ahead full speed."

He'd delayed that order perhaps a little too long. Not wanting to flee from one single ship, no matter how oddly it behaved. But these Humans…unpredictability like that required greater caution.

The ship would reach at least 20,000 units of the fleet before they were all at maximum speed. It likely wouldn't gain or lose any more than that, unless it was faster that it had shown itself to be so far.

20,000 units would be enough. If it fired on the fleet, then he would engage in full and destroy it. But _Sei _pack would surely destroy it before then.

* * *

><p>The <em>Tempest <em>shook.

Rapidly, shuddering through the hits she took. Sets of two, one right behind the other. Over and over, mercilessly…

Trip watched the status report practically scream at him, barely holding on to the console with one hand. The _Tempest _doing her level best to pay him back for the mess he'd gotten her into by knocking his sorry ass to the floor.

Slipping and nearly falling before T'Pol snatched out a hand to grab him. And thank you, T'Pol, for being a Vulcan spy, with those crazy quick reflexes…

So, yeah, maybe he _did _need a good right hand after all.

The tactical report flashed, demanding his attention.

Shields at 90%…82%…67%

Hull 84%…76%…54%…

Shield threshold at almost half, operations disrupted, targeting degraded by 12%.

Energy discharge, Deck B, Brig. Another in the Mess Hall, of all places.

The Mayhem system offline…

"Mayhem, Crowley!" He snapped. "Top priority!"

Epsilon pack flashed past them on all sides, the Warbird at least trailing smoke and fire now. Rolling into an offensive turnabout directly behind them, crossing paths with one another expertly as they came about to pursue.

The Warbird passing by to starboard, with two Birds of Prey on its flanks. Coming right into Benning's field of fire.

Phase cannons cutting across her shields as she passed…followed by torpedoes jumping out as she turned into their wake, right along their already withered starboard side.

Trip spared the target status report a glance.

So Benning had maybe felt the need to compete with the Vulcan officer a bit. Because he'd ripped that Warbird to shreds.

Shields at 48%, Hull integrity 25%. Two breaches starboard side, all weapons there offline.

The Romulan main fleet itself, though…

Trip saw at a glance. They'd formed up and were on the move.

Moving away…at just over 20,000 kay. Matching speed, although probably as a result of every single ship out here pushing their impulse propulsion to the absolute limit.

The _Tempest _hadn't exactly pushed her limits just yet, though. Not quite.

Trip tapped the comm at his belt.

"Bridge to Harrison." He said.

Harrison already knew and he didn't bother with protocol.

"_Ready, Captain! Locked and loaded, targets fixed!"_

Trip nodded, to himself.

So, okay then.

He spared a look at T'Pol. And she barely glanced his way, sensing that. Keeping her focus on the tactical controls and the targets coming around to hurt the _Tempest _again.

But she spared that short look, to see him look at her. And then another…to give him maybe just the softest, most beautiful _almost _smile he'd ever seen in his life.

It was just crazy how profound an impact that had on him right then.

Trip grinned, despite himself. And this was a hell of a time to be grinning about _anything_.

"T'Pol, transfer forward armory to secondary load, pick up Harrison's targeting feed. I'm giving you the missiles."

She didn't hesitate, she was already doing it. The controls on that side of the console sliding smoothly into place. And she was ready just that quickly.

"Darlin'." He said, grinning still. "You make this shot and I'll rub your ears for a week straight…"

Her eyebrow twitched a bit, but that's all she gave him for that one. Focused on the tactical station, running the numbers, ready and waiting.

Now the part that sucked…

"Steel." Trip said, his voice biting. "Plasma bleed, four seconds."

And, yes, he'd promised T'Pol. Promised that he would get them out of this somehow. That _had _meant saving that particularly uncomfortable option for a last ditch effort to get away from the fleet before they died.

But they had to get closer. Just a little closer, dragging this pack along with them when they did.

And thank God.

Thank merciful God in heaven. Steel didn't hesitate, even if he had to have known what the order meant. How, even if they didn't blow all their impulse thrusters out with a four second plasma bleed…it'd still hurt. And it'd still make trying to escape afterward all the more impossible.

But Steel hit the bleed the second it was ordered.

And the _Tempest_ instantly leapt, screaming fury for the Romulan fleet.


	57. Chapter 57

_**Daise Hfai  
><strong>_**Romulan Warbird (**_**IRW Sehu-Lla'fve**_**)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck B**

Branak saw the Starfleet vessel suddenly leap forward, leaving the pack coming around to pursue them floundering in their wake.

Moving impossibly _fast_…unless…

Yes, of course. They were bleeding plasma into their impulse exhaust stream.

A nearly insane thing to do. Their thrusters couldn't possibly handle that sort of combustive power. It was a last ditch effort…a supreme risk…throwing everything they had into reaching the fleet.

They certainly _seemed _to be fighting like Romulans so far. They'd _seemed _to have assessed the situation, realized the fleet would reach Proxima Centauri and annihilate the forces there. And move on, even to Sol. Taking that system as well, before the coalition forces could respond in time.

They'd obviously realized all this and made the honorable choice. To throw themselves at his ship, the fleet's command ship. To die in the effort of destroying them. Even if only weakening them enough that forces in Proxima might accomplish that themselves.

Even barring all of that, at least to show that they died with honor. To illustrate the impossibility of winning any contest against their people, as all of them could be expected to do the same. Demoralizing the enemy with the awareness of just how much they would have to suffer and bleed and die to ever dare hope to achieve victory.

That is what a Romulan vessel in this situation would do. And it was obviously what this ship intended.

But Branak simply couldn't accept that.

They were _not _Romulans. They were Humans. So this was some _Human _thing.

Some indiscernible, brilliant strategy. Some super weapon he couldn't imagine. _Something_…

He simply could not allow that ship to reach the fleet.

_Sei _pack was trying to catch back up to the Starfleet vessel, in pursuit at full speed. But they were falling behind.

_Rhi _and _Fve _packs were trailing the formation, both within 6,000 units of the incoming vessel now.

The Humans would be at 3,000 from the fleet by the time they intercepted, and only if they moved quickly. If they moved _now_.

"Deploy _Rhi _and _Fve _to intercept." Branak ordered. "_Hwi, Kre _and _Mne _to form on us, fluid eagle formation."

So, very well then. If it required _three _packs to destroy that ship before it reached the rest of the fleet, then so be it.

* * *

><p>Trip saw the warning indicator flash from 'we got trouble' yellow to a stark 'oh, my God' red…<p>

He didn't hesitate. They were nearly close enough and they hadn't quite blown any thrusters getting there.

"Cut plasma bleed." He ordered.

The _Tempest _slowed markedly, still matching speed with their pursuers. Still just barely out range of the fleet itself now. Every thruster back there practically glowing from the hellish demands that had been made of them, but the _Tempest _had given him all she could.

At the least the engines stopped screaming at him, loud and long enough that he could hear them all the way up on the bridge.

And that had hurt, he had to admit. It was terrible thing to do to your own ship.

At the Helm, Steel watched the tied in tactical display at the corner of his console. Busily balancing power demands and maneuvering ever so perfectly to help Benning and T'Pol avoid weapons locks. Not that they weren't lit up already by more of those than he could count.

Staying oriented on the fleet, because that was all that mattered. Staying on them, doing everything he could do to gain even a half kilometer more.

Get in range, stay in range. And to hell with how many hits they took doing that.

Epsilon pack in pursuit behind them, at 5,000 kay.

Ahead, the Romulan main fleet. Five packs and the command Warbird. The command ship itself in the lead…now only 17,000 kay away from them.

He was almost there.

So close to right where they needed to be.

He almost shouted it out, to be sure the Captain knew. That it was almost time to fire those missiles. At least get that most important part of this done before something terrible happened. At least that, _then _they'd worry about taking some of these guys on. Worry about getting out of here…

The fleet shifted.

Exactly what he'd been waiting for this whole time.

His fingers danced. Playing the console like a master. Sending the _Tempest _banking down sharply, on an impossibly perfect arc. Nose still oriented on the fleet, dropping down the z-axis to come at them from below…

Losing some relative speed. The pursuing pack gaining on them a little now, drawing in to 3,000. But there was that nice side effect of breaking every weapons lock the _Tempest _had on her at the moment. And the very lovely sight of about a dozen fission missiles flying past overhead.

The main fleet would have to shift again now…the leading two packs coming down, the rear pack climbing. To keep the _Tempest _covered, ready to protect themselves from her…

Then he'd be there. They'd all be in range and…

It was too late when Steel realized…he'd misinterpreted the move.

The fleet hadn't shifted defensively at all.

Three of the lead packs had simply continued forward at full impulse, two in the rear moving on a defensive split. Not to move alongside the fleet but…to turn about and come after them.

He'd…screwed up.

He lost them.

The main fleet pulling away to nearly 22,000 kay now…because he'd lost relative motion to them with that move. Those two incoming packs curving down on their turn now, coming for them…

"No." He breathed. "Oh, no no no…"

They couldn't catch up again now. Not without another plasma bleed. Not even with that. Half the ship's thrusters were almost at critical already…

He'd let half the damned fleet pull away…

They'd never catch them now. They were as good as gone.

"Captain…I…I just…" He stuttered, overwhelmed at what had just happened. His hand even coming away from the controls in shock at what he'd just let happen.

"Focus!" Trip snapped, over his shoulder at the command console. "Keep it together, Steel. Get every one of them in range that you can!"

Steel swallowed his dismay…and he let his fingers dance again. Keeping on the move, avoiding locks, maneuvering them all where he wanted them to be.

This half of the fleet at least.

* * *

><p><em>Rhi <em>and _Fve _broke off, curving sharply away from the main fleet to come about. Breaking off to engage the Starfleet vessel.

His damned fleet was scattered all over the place now. And his anger over one ridiculous Human ship being responsible for that made this teeth hurt. His jaw clenched much too tightly.

Why hadn't anyone destroyed that ship yet?!

Branak struggled to remain calm. Remain calm and be patient.

The Starfleet ship had _Sei _pack right on their tail. _Rhi _and _Fve _would engage them in moments from the fore. They would be trapped, with nowhere to turn and nothing to do but engage directly.

In fact, Branak hoped they _would _continue to come for them as they had. Ignore the threats closing in on all sides and keep coming right for them. Because three packs bearing down on them…thirteen Birds of Prey and three Warbirds…they'd rip that Human ship to pieces without even trying.

So he calmed himself. Stayed focused. Watched the tactical display intently, ready to respond to anything they might…

The Starfleet ship…suddenly dropped.

Descending sharply on their z-axis, even while staying oriented on the main fleet…

They lost ground instantly…falling back. Falling a little closer to _Sei _pack, still coming in behind them in pursuit. Breaking locks, throwing off targeting, of course. Even rather amazingly dodging a dozen fission missiles in the process.

Branak…didn't know what to make of that at first.

Then he did.

Because it suddenly occurred to him.

He laughed loudly then, enough to startle a few people on the bridge. Even Nevala looked at him strangely for a moment there.

Branak glanced around to see that, before moving to explain.

"They expected us to shift into a defensive formation now." He said, chuckling. Gesturing at the tactical table. "Do you see? And then the fleet would maintain equidistance at all points."

Nevala grumbled. "What would be the point of that?"

Branak waved the matter away. Because it didn't really matter exactly what they hoped to accomplish with that.

"They probably meant to attempt another plasma burning maneuver." He said.

"Ah." Nevala smirked, getting it. "Perhaps only to draw a little closer to the fleet…closer to _us_…to fire on us at least once before they die."

"I would assume." Branak shrugged, still grinning.

And she was probably right. He would have tilted the rear two packs up and away from the Starfleet vessel, if he meant to cover them that way. And that _would _have given them a thousand or so more units to approach the command ship unhindered.

He watched the board again. Not at all angry any more. Growing some begrudging respect for this particular band of Humans, in fact. The more he struggled with them, the more like Romulans they seemed.

D'Tan, on the Tactical station echoed his own thoughts.

"If I thought it would benefit the Empire at all, Commander." He said. "I'd suggest turning about to engage them ourselves. Give the Humans their shot."

Branak chuckled a little at that.

"I know exactly what you mean." He admitted. "The thought has crossed my mind. But let us take somewhat greater care with the materials the Empire has entrusted to us. Let's kill this ship instead and give that glory to the Empire rather than taking it ourselves."

* * *

><p>Benning lined up his shots, even snatching control of a couple of phase cannons from T'Pol to do it.<p>

Firing everything at once, all locked on the Warbird.

A trio of brilliant blue sparks shooting out for the Warbird coming in behind them, already locking onto them to fire again. No less that five of the _Tempest's _phase cannons slashing out across the thin wisp of shielding they still enjoyed.

The first two phased shots batting that away effortlessly.

Beams lashing through, across the Warbird's forward hull. The distinctive flash and plume of hull breaches all along their path.

Torpedoes driving in with nothing to stop them…impacting and detonating. Until the entire front of the Warbird was nothing but a cloud of fire and smoke.

Shields gone. Hull integrity below 5%. Multiple systems failures, life support and operations long since gone.

Finally taking their own shot. One single fission missile from the only battery that was still partly functional. That shot flying wide, missing badly…because that battery was only _partly _functional.

Benning hoped. He watched to see, hoping.

If that damned Warbird would just do the Romulan thing here…go ahead and pitch a tantrum, initiate a warp core breach…that would sure help with the four Birds of Prey still coming up on them from behind.

It didn't, of course. Because that would be too much like having some good luck here. It simply lost propulsion and started tumbling into a hard drift. Not much over there still functioned and even their power grid had dropped offline. It was just a big ball of duranium, smoke and fire falling back out of the chase. There probably wasn't even anyone left alive on that ship anymore.

And those Birds of Prey were taking _their _shots now. Fission missiles flaring out at them from all over the place. A full eight of them, and half of them Benning knew they wouldn't be able to evade.

Steel tried, twisting the _Tempest _just so to let two of them whistle past. Crenshaw incredibly managing to lure one off target a bit with whatever it was he was doing over on the Comm.

The others darting in to strike hard, leaving the _Tempest _to shake at the trauma.

Shields holding on at 42%. Hull integrity around 40% overall.

Hull breach, Deck C, rear…

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

The shuttle bay. They'd just lost the shuttle bay. Specifically, the shuttle.

As in their only remaining shuttle.

So no transporter, no shuttles and only one hard dock left on the ship. In fact…a quick glance at the damage report, where they'd taken a couple of hits on that side…

Yeah. Their last hard dock was caved right in. So even if they got out of this somehow…they'd practically have to go spacewalk in EVA suits just to get off the ship.

Benning wanted to laugh. He really did. Because that was just a step beyond ridiculous right there.

* * *

><p>Branak watched the Starfleet vessel struggle, exchanging fire with <em>Sei <em>pack in close pursuit behind. Trailing smoke already from the damage it had taken.

Watched the pack leader crumble and fall away, as utterly destroyed as if they'd initiated core breach themselves. Whittled away to nothing by the surprisingly deadly little ship they pursued.

And it was indeed impressive. Perhaps the Starfleet vessel was already half dead itself, but that they had managed to take a Warbird down before they were destroyed was rather remarkable. Five of their own ships had gone against the fleet and none of them had managed that much.

But _Rhi _and _Fve _were already closing in, locking on and holding fire until they were very close. To be sure they killed that ship quickly. Killed them quickly and return to formation. To drag this entire morbid affair out no longer than necessary.

Branak was sure they were eager to make the kill. He was found himself feeling much the same way, lamenting that he hadn't turned about and engage them himself.

They'd have to give this ship a place of honor on the kill board out in the hall. They'd already earned that much at least.

Strange to feel this way for an enemy. And it was a rare and beautiful thing to experience. Relief at their passing, so that they threatened you no longer…yet regret that an opponent great enough to actually _be _a threat had passed out of existence.

Indeed, he was often sorry he'd ever been promoted to the level he had. The Empire required it, of course. So he would never complain of that, nor shirk his duty in any way. But secretly…he did miss commanding his own ship, engaging the enemy head on…

"Commander!" Taibak announced. "Forward sensors!"

Branak jerked in surprise, looking quickly to see what had alarmed Taibak enough to shout out like that.

There, on long range sensors…

He stared in shock, not believing what he was seeing at first.

Commander Branak…

…_gripped _the tactical table fiercely then. Enough that the plasteel border _cracked _slightly before he was aware of it.

No. That wasn't _possible!_

His fury rose again, stronger now than before.

A trick. It was all a trick!

The damned Starfleet vessel…they weren't fighting like Romulans at all. They were fighting like _Humans!_

A devious trick. Trailing them, mocking them…darting in to engage when the opportunity presented itself…

All not for the chance of dying in glory as a Romulan would. Rather merely to keep his fleet occupied until _this_...

Branak _slammed _a fist down on the tactical table, the plasteel border coming completely undone and collapsing away, pieces flying everyone.

His face twisted in a rictus of blazing fury…

He whirled on the bridge crew, snarling.

"Orders to fleet!" He snapped, raging. "All vessels engage that ship! Destroy them! _Obliterate them! Now!"_

* * *

><p>Half the Romulan fleet was just out of range and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about that. They were already at full impulse, plus a dangerous little more. No hope of getting the whole fleet back in range of the missiles without blowing out their thrusters with another plasma burn.<p>

Even then…no certainty that they'd get in close enough anyway. Though it _would _be certain then that they'd be dead in the water and wouldn't be able to do a whole lot about the fleet of Romulan ships all around them then, even if their shields _were _all knocked out.

They might take down one or two but…without even the ability to maneuver…

Trip took a deep breath…and let that go.

Just let it go.

Nothing to be done for it. The best laid plans and all that crap.

So, whatever. He'd already prayed about this before. Letting God know, although He'd surely already known, that he was absolutely fine with whatever happened here. As long as it was God's will…even if that meant he accomplished nothing and his ship and crew all died in vain…that was fine with him.

God's will be done. That was his motto. Because he figured that was some real wisdom there. That way…no matter what happened, you were on the right side of things.

"Okay." He said, letting that cleansing breath go. "We'll take what we can get. T'Pol, let 'em have it."

T'Pol was unsure.

"If I retask targeting for the individual laser rod guidance systems, that will take time…"

"Don't worry about it." Trip smirked, ruefully. "So half the rods fire at targets out of range. Half a fleet's better than none."

T'Pol nodded and went right to work, determining the precise central point between all enemy vessels within range of the missiles. Targeting the point in space where they would deploy and where the fission missiles would detonate to active them. And, as importantly, where the _Tempest _would be then, so as to avoid getting in the way of anything.

She had it in four seconds, her finger poised to fire…when Trip noticed…

"Whoa, whoa…hold on!" He said, throwing his stump in her direction…forgetting the hand wasn't there anymore for a moment…to emphasize the 'hold on' part of that.

He stared, a little amazed, at the tactical display.

"T'Pol, you seeing this?" He said, surprised. "Am I crazy or are those three packs out front turning around on us?"

The _Tempest _shook suddenly, taking the heat of yet another salvo of fission missiles from the pursuing Birds of Prey. And Trip glanced at the status display to see things were looking pretty grim now.

Shields 34%, Hull 28%. Operations efficiency down to 45% with all the damage to data connections and wireless rigs all over the place.

No less than four hull breaches on Decks B and C. Personnel and Officer Quarters, thankfully. Since there wasn't anyone near there at the moment. There weren't that many _people _on the ship, hence their completely avoiding any casualties at all so far.

Maneuverability was degraded, tactical on the very cusp of losing the ability to lock on at all. How the heck they hadn't lost life support or sensors…or, for crying out loud, _propulsion_…Trip couldn't figure.

Or…he _could _figure. Shran and her little team were all over the place, making sure that didn't happen.

But they couldn't wait anymore. They couldn't afford to wait as long as they already _had_. This had to be done _now_.

"They are closing in." T'Pol confirmed, looking over the command tactical display. "They will be in range of the missiles in twenty seconds."

"We don't _have _twenty seconds…"

T'Pol just drew back, returning her attention to her station.

Reaching out to stab at the fire control panel. Sending the missiles on their way with the mildest thump from somewhere below deck.

Waiting and watching for the signal from the armory that the nukes were loaded and ready to fire.

Sparing Trip a glance as he looked on, slightly shocked.

"It will take ten seconds for the missiles to reach their mark and deploy." She explained. "Another three…"

She paused long enough to emphasize that point by depressing the fire panel again, sending the nukes on their way with another mild thump.

"…three seconds for the fission missiles to be loaded. Seven more to reach the detonation point…"

"Alright, I get it." Trip said.

And reached immediately for his comm. Because they were about ten seconds from those two incoming packs, Delta and Zeta, hitting them from the front. They were already locked on, holding fire until they were close enough to pound them to powder.

"Captain to Shran!"

"_Shran!"_

"We need Mayhem and we need it right the hell now!"

"_We're trying to get to it, but the portside…!"_

"Do whatever you have to do, Shran! If we don't have it _right now _then we won't need it anymore!"

* * *

><p>Shran bore down on the cutter, driving the laser saw deeper into the bulkhead. Putting all her strength and all her weight into it.<p>

The twisted section of metal…jerked and finally fell away. Forcing her to scramble back so it didn't fall on _her_.

"Claiborne, clear it!" She barked, already hefting the massive cutter to her chest, two handed, stepping aside to clear a path for him to do so.

He snatched the magnetic grapplers to it and scrambled back himself. Hitting the controller he'd jury rigged to the wall nearby, so it'd be in easy reach.

The huge hunk of duranium was snatched down the corridor, out of the way, with a painful, grinding scream. Grapplers detaching and sliding right back into the rig bolted into both walls behind them and up along the relay again, ready to remove the next obstacle.

Shran already had the cutter shifted back into play by the strap across her shoulder. Powering up the laser and driving it into the next section of debris, the diamond bit right behind it to chew up everything the cutter didn't.

The Mayhem system's central power distribution core was _right there_. Right behind less than two meters of debris blocking the corridor. And there were ten other ways to get to it besides that.

Eight of them unfortunately requiring someone to go EVA outside the ship in the middle of a running battle to access. The other two involving simply crawling right down the sealed off maintenance tube.

Sealed off because that tube was currently flooded with enough radiation of just about every type that you could fry an egg just _thinking _about it. Forget about tossing an egg _in _there to cook. It's just explode or something.

Shran grit her teeth and bore down harder.

They needed Mayhem and they needed it soon. Maybe as much as they needed those missiles.

If any of her people were going to get out of here, they needed it _now_…

_"Captain to Shran!"_

She stopped the cutter with a vicious curse and slapped at her comm.

"Shran!"

"_We need Mayhem and we need it right the hell now!"_

"We're trying to get to it, but the portside…!"

"_Do whatever you have to do, Shran! If we don't have it right now then we won't need it anymore!"_

Shran grit her teeth all the harder. And she growled a bit, glaring at the debris blocking the corridor in front of her.

And she went a little cold, thinking about it.

She looked over at Claiborne. And he looked back, his mouth tight. Eyes pained.

He was thinking exactly what she was thinking.

"We can't get to it in time." He said, grimly.

And she thought about _that _a second. Because he was right.

They could overload a phase pistol maybe…fetch some demolitions from Science perhaps…

But that would just make things worse, however much better it'd make her _feel _here.

They had to get this done. They needed the Mayhem system. Without it…they weren't getting out of this. They probably wouldn't even be able to fire the missiles and actually _hit _anything.

And her crew…

Her…family…

She sighed.

Reaching up to flip the catch on the strap holding the cutter to her chest. Letting it drop to the floor.

"Yes, we can." She said, quietly.

She turned to reach for her helmet, where it lay tossed aside a while ago. But realized that wasn't really worth the trouble. It'd help but only so much. And she'd have trouble seeing clearly after a minute or so anyway.

So she stepped and snatched up the tool belt instead, tossing that over her head and across her shoulder. Tugging it down where she could get to everything easily.

Claiborne already knew what she was going to do.

"I'll go." He said, firmly. Already stepping forward to do so.

"No." Shran insisted. "You're Human. You won't make it halfway. I can get in there and get it done. Maybe even get back out again…not that it matters."

She stepped over to the maintenance tube access, crouching down to key in her override.

But she paused.

"Better step around the corner, Jack." She said, smiling sadly.

"Talla…" He began. But he couldn't find what to say after that.

What the hell _could _he say here?

Shran was already standing again, coming for him. And he suddenly wasn't sure at first what she meant to do.

Hit him? Knock him out?

Was she afraid he'd try to get down the tube anyway?

She grabbed him…and drew him in close, wrapping her arms tight around him.

Holding him close for a short moment.

Whispering fiercely in his ear.

"I always loved you Jack." She said. "I'm sorry I didn't know what to do about that."

And she let him go.

Except for the one arm, which she steered and dragged away. Pulling him down the corridor to shove him around the corner.

Give him one last painfully look as he stood there staring at her.

Before she suddenly smiled and winked. And disappeared again around the corner.


	58. Chapter 58

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Delta pack, five Birds of Prey and a Warbird.

Zeta pack, four and a Warbird of their own.

5,000 kay out and coming fast. Clearly wanting to be right on top of them, at point blank range, when they crammed twenty plus fission missiles down their throat.

Shields at 30%, Hull at 22%. Operational efficiency back up…to a mere 55%. Hull breaches, targeting degraded, gravity plating offline across half the ship, atmosphere growing thin from that last hit to life support, Alice barely managing that…

_Tempest _was hurt and she was hurt bad.

She simply would not survive the incoming attack.

Trip could see the tactical display in the center of the bridge trying to get that point across, just in case he'd missed it somehow. A thick, black trail of smoke defined her wake. Flashes and flares from holes in her hull and a couple of fuel leaks somewhere back there were actually on fire.

So. They'd done their job. Missiles deployed.

Now for the other part of all this. The promise he'd made to T'Pol.

You know, the _easy _part.

"Evasive maneuvers." Trip ordered. "Target Warbird Delta, close approach. Ready Mayhem, Crowley."

_Tempest _banked hard to starboard, before immediately straightening out again. Breaking half a dozen locks she'd just picked up…and dodging a few of the incoming missiles…then bucking high to reorient on one of the two approaching Warbirds. The one leading Delta pack.

Outside, on the underbelly of the ship, one of the ship's two grappler cannons extended out beyond the protection of the ship's outer hull. This one specially modified.

Modified all to hell and back, enough that it could barely be called anything that even _used _to be a grappler cannon.

It spun about quickly, zeroing in on the approaching Warbird Delta.

And all along the _Tempest's _hull hundreds of small, fist-sized plates quietly 'popped' lose, spinning off into space. Short spines sliding out and locking into place, until the ship looked like something out of a nightmare. A monstrous porcupine ship, sporting a brand new set of short, black quills.

Quills that flared and lit up dimly, glowing red now. Ready to emit…the moment Shran got off her ass down there and got that system back online…

* * *

><p>By the time Shran reached the Mayhem system's distribution core, kicking the access panel aside and sliding on into the room…she already had a headache.<p>

It throbbed like a spike being pounded into her brain. Enough that she nearly winced with each pulse, wishing her heart would go right ahead and stop beating since that's what was aggravating things in there.

Already a little feverish. A little nauseous. Muscles twitching a bit.

And she had to go to the bathroom. _Badly_. The morbid diarrhea being the part of this she'd conveniently allowed herself to forget about.

Probably better if she _didn't _survive this. In just a minute that was going to get very embarrassing.

Too bad for whoever had to clean up after her in here. Or…clean _her _out of here.

The central power distribution core was right there and she could see the problem already. Something had exploded somewhere else, powerfully enough to send a fist-sized hunk of metal slamming through the rear wall to lodge in the side of the thing.

It was still stuck there, probably wedged up against some electronics just inside the housing. Hopefully only knocking something loose, rather than _smashing _anything. She hadn't exactly brought a crate full of replacement components with her.

She stumbled over quickly, perfectly aware that she didn't have a lot of time here. Her antennae were already hazy and her vision a little blurred.

And she surprised herself by vomiting explosively all over the distribution core when she finally stumbled into it.

Her knees buckled and she went to the floor beside it. Vomiting like that made you a little weak, is all. Which was fine, since she had to pop those fasteners loose anyway to get the housing out of the way.

The housing came loose easily…but it was a little struggle getting the thing up and out of the way, considering the angle she was working from and how weak she was at the moment.

She started coughing, trying to get something up. Something wet that she really didn't want to come up. Because it'd be dark blue, she was sure.

She was going to make a complete damned mess in here getting this done. She really hadn't wanted to do that.

The decoupler she wielded against that hunk of twisted metal was proving hard to get on target. Her body didn't seem to want to do what she told it to do, her muscles insisting on going off target even when it did. And the tremors starting to kick in already made it harder still in the short, occasional moments when everything did what she otherwise wanted.

She didn't have a lot of time.

But she got that hunk of metal popped loose eventually. And she was a little amazed, once she was able to focus enough to see…it really _had _just nudged a single control circuit out of place.

She almost wasted a few precious seconds staring at that.

It was pretty damned funny.

She had to try a couple of times before she could reach and grab hold of the thing. And she managed to snatch it completely out once she did, since her nervous system decided to do everything backwards for a few seconds.

It took forever to get it back on target and shove it back in again. And she really couldn't see anymore by then, so she did it with her eyes closed.

She was dizzy and everything was spinning.

And she was sick…sure she was about to make that big, bloody-blue mess everywhere she'd been trying to avoid…

So she let herself fall back on her butt again, leaning against the distribution core. Waiting for it to pass, so she could get up and check that everything was working…

It didn't pass.

It wasn't going to pass.

And she couldn't find the Sisco comm on her belt anymore. Couldn't get her hand to move correctly to even look for it.

So she stopped trying. She was very tired and sick.

She spent a moment apologizing then, to whatever was out there waiting for her. Sorry that she hadn't done…well, everything, differently. That she hadn't made the universe a better place for having been brought into it and given free roam the way she had.

She'd tried…but maybe she should have asked for a little help from whoever had brought into this world. And now it was too late.

At least she'd done this much, though. And she was grateful, in a hazy sort of way, for having been given that opportunity.

"_Lieutenant Shran, I see you're suffering from acute radiation exposure. Are you having difficulty accessing your Sisco unit? Would you like me to help?"_

Talla had to take a breath to answer…and that only set her to coughing harshly for a while. Too weak when it was done to do more than mumble.

"Did I fix it?" Talla slurred.

Before vomiting explosively again. All over herself, at least. Not so much on the floor, where someone would have to clean it up.

At least…she was pretty sure…

"_The Mayhem system's central power distribution core is online. Diagnostics indicate peak function and efficiency."_

"Tell…" Talla began.

But she couldn't remember the name.

"…on the bridge." She said. Close enough.

"_I have indicated to Lieutenant Crowley that the Mayhem system is currently available. The ship's multi-spectral emitters and integral grappler cannon have been deployed. Commander Benning and T'Pol are current targeting the Delta Warbird. I believe the system will receive its first successful combat test in approximately eight seconds."_

Talla was too sick to talk anymore. And all she could see was…light. Bright white light all around her. Warm and welcome.

Much better than here. So she paid attention to that instead.

"_Lieutenant Shran, would like you like me to keep you company in your final moments?"_

"No, s'alright." Talla slurred. "Belli here."

"_Belli? Your chan?"_

"Yes. Am Enya."

"_Is Makiv there as well?"_

"Yes."

"_That is very fortunate, Talla."_

Talla coughed again, suddenly. A long, wet and painful cough. But she didn't mind and didn't pay it much attention.

It passed after a moment. And she didn't have the strength to fully catch her breath anymore. But she didn't mind that either.

"_Lieutenant Shran?"_

"Mm?"

"_I hope that I can meet you there someday. Perhaps I will be helpful to you then as well."_

Shran said nothing to that.

She was slumped against the distribution core housing. Her breath growing faint, eyes closed. Barely conscious, if at all.

Her life signs quickly passing beyond detection by the security systems in the room.

But Alice wasn't entirely sure. So it seemed efficient to verify that.

"_Talla, are you still there?"_

But Lieutenant Shran didn't answer.

Perhaps she was merely too weak to answer. And perhaps she could still hear her.

"_Goodbye, Talla. It has been a rewarding experience working with you."_

Perceiving her task there as being completed, Alice turned the attention she had free from other processing tasks to considered the nuclear x-ray missiles currently on approach to their deployment positions.

Having already detected and monitored transmissions between Romulan vessels in the area, availing herself of Lieutenant Crowley's partial successes in isolating frequencies and imbedded encryptions, she set about finalizing those processes for him. Sending the completed translation programs and transmission coding to his console, should he require communication with the Romulan forces.

And she perceived an appropriate humorous interaction was available relevant to that as well.

So she broadcast a message to all Romulan vessels in the immediate area, properly encoded, along the associated frequencies. Finding Talla's voice appropriate for that communication, she took the liberty of synthesizing it.

Transmitting the message in fluent Romulan, using Lieutenant Talla Shran's own voice.

_"Attention Romulan hostiles. All your base are belong to us. You have no chance to survive make your time. For great justice!"_

She projected it highly unlikely the Romulan forces would either perceive or appreciate the humor. But Commander Song very likely would, once the message was discovered and analyzed.

And so it was both relevant and an appropriate use of processing capability.

* * *

><p>Outside the ship, in the midst of the chaotic and insignificant hunks of metal and energy flinging destruction at one another in one small corner of space…three photon torpedo shells sailed out alone into the dark vacuum.<p>

Each moving along independent paths laid out for them, thousands of kilometers apart from one another, until they reached their individual deployment points. All at almost the exact same moment.

The protective shells popping loose and spinning away, revealing a tightly packed cluster of laser rods.

The deployment packages thrusting the bundles out immediately, bringing them clear of the torpedo shells, revealing the hastily tacked on attitude thrusters and sensor packages along the length of each rod.

The entire bundle blossoming now, like a strange ruby red flower of destructive technology. Snapping and sending the rods out and away, with a speed and force that would have been surprising to anyone witnessing it.

But no one did. Everyone in the vicinity capable of doing so being entirely too focused on lesser matters at the moment.

The rods spun about wildly as they were flung away, attitude thrusters already responding to telemetry between the _Tempest's _sensor system and their individual attached sensor relays.

Alice overseeing that telemetry herself, having determined it appropriate to do so.

Spinning in place, twirling, orienting on their respective targets as they sailed out through space. Roughly thirty or so rods for each target, with some granted the privilege of as many as thirty four.

Sailing out, maintaining their targets perfectly. Waiting patiently for the moment they would fulfill their purpose.

An ever expanding glittering globe of patient, perfectly focused devices. Into which three one-hundred megaton fission warheads suddenly arrived, finding the exact center of each expanding blossom.

Before expanding themselves, violently. With such cosmic force and energy that all those foolish enough to have missed the beauty of that moment could not help but be made aware of it now.

That force, that energy, activating the rods. Instantly encouraging them to reach far beyond their design, plumbing deep beyond the depths of their capabilities and releasing unsuspected reservoirs of pure energy…enough that they were utterly destroyed in the process.

That small corner of space, where the handful of chaotic and insignificant hunks of metal and energy strove against one another…

…suddenly lit up.

Perhaps not visibly, to the naked organic eye. But to any properly advanced species, capable of perceiving the beauty of the event, it would have been quite remarkable indeed.

Alice saw it. And she was suitably impressed.

One thousand extremely high powered x-ray laser beams, flashing out for the briefest instant, to touch and caress each and every one of the targets chosen to receive that honor.

Splashing against and upon their deflector shielding, overloading those systems almost immediately. Piercing through in many cases, to light upon the hulls of their ships.

The resulting rapid accumulation of electrons, truly massive electron charges, flowing across the surface, finding and taking advantage of every available power transmission system. Targeting arrays, sensor packages…even a power conduit located too close to the surface here and there. Penetrating the hulls of the vessels, producing electron discharges along the walls of interior compartments. Cavity electromagnetic fields inducing overloads in various systems, either burning them out completely or at least degrading performance significantly.

The x-ray laser beams even breaching the hulls of more than a few ships, breaching and exposing sections to space. Causing violent decompressions and killing everything near the impact point.

Deep, penetrating hull breaches. Beyond even what the typical pulsed phase cannon was often capable. Their damage spread less evenly into and along the path of penetration, causing less damage overall by far…but penetrating far deeper nevertheless.

And just as many penetrating the hulls of their targets…without causing a breach. Merely shining through in those places they struck where polarized armor plating was thin enough to allow that. And in those cases…the damage was much worse.

The x-rays attenuating quickly, superheating the atmosphere within…with no emergency bulkheads in place to contain the explosive force of the blast. Because there had been no breach detected.

Every ship in the Romulan fleet was suddenly bereft of their shield systems. Most suffering significant power failures with multiple systems dropping offline entirely. Many sporting a hull breach or two…or more. As many as six in one case.

But aboard a very unlucky few, the atmosphere ignited and the crew burned. And among a few more still, x-ray radiation dispersed throughout various areas of the ship, rendering death to many of those ship's crew by radiation exposure…and not at all as quickly as they would have preferred.

Alice immediately identified the relevance of that, considering Lieutenant Talla Shran's recent fate. And she found that appropriate as well.

And so, having verified her oversight of the deployment and detonation of the nuclear x-ray laser missile system to be appropriate and successful, returned her primary attention to maintaining the life support systems of the _Tempest_. And to maintaining a protective vigil over Talla's remains until she could be recovered and properly cared for by _Tempest _personnel.

* * *

><p>"Mayhem's online!" Crowley suddenly announced.<p>

Trip nearly slumped with relief…but they had exactly no time for anything other than…

"Full evasive!" He ordered, immediately. "Maintain target approach!"

The _Tempest _proceeded to buck and slide, Steel doing everything in his power to avoid target locks, break the locks they picked up anyway and evade everything already coming their way.

All their power was needed for what they were about to do. Nothing to spare for weapons, none for the Echo system to make avoiding target locks so much easier…they couldn't even afford deflector shields.

That system would drop the moment Mayhem reached and grabbed every spare electron in the ship's power distribution network.

Epsilon pack was still in pursuit, four Birds of Prey driving hard on their tail, doing their best to land a shot on the _Tempest_.

Delta and Zeta packs closing in, approaching point blank range. 1,000 kilometers, where Trip was absolutely certain they'd throw everything they had at them.

The _Tempest _couldn't afford to take a single hit. Not now, and never mind she was on her last legs in the first place. And they needed close approach, under 1,000 themselves to utilize Mayhem to its maximum potential.

But then again…screw maximum potential. They couldn't use Mayhem at all if they were dead…

Range 2,300 kay to target. Warbird Delta.

Trip turned to the Science station, where Song had been quietly and intently absorbing every bit of sensor data coming their way. Relaying status reports on individual targets, rerouting sensor feeds between system components as one or the other overloaded or just plain exploded…and gathering data on the profile and power signature of the target, Warbird Delta.

"Tell me you have it, Song."

Keyla just reached absently and tapped the console to one side, focused entirely on the half dozen other things she was doing.

The information appeared on the Engineering station, already integrating with the Mayhem system.

"Got it." Crowley announced.

"Then do it." Trip nodded, gesturing sharply his way.

Along the outer hull of the _Tempest_, the short, glowing red spines flashed again…and the surface of the ship shimmered.

Blossoming, folding outward in a multi-colored wave running the entire length of the ship…

For only a short moment. Solidifying quickly and coming into focus immediately.

And the _Tempest _was simply, suddenly gone.

Replaced…with something else entirely.


	59. Chapter 59

_**Daise Hfai  
><strong>_**Romulan Warbird (**_**IRW Sehu-Lla'fve**_**)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck B**

Commander Branak raged and he snarled. The tactical table suffered further abuse and the bridge crew nearly trembled in their terror at his fury.

He'd seen the contacts on long range sensors and understood perfectly what had been done here.

One lone Starfleet vessel, trailing his fleet. Waiting to draw attention to itself…waiting to draw a pack or two away.

Sacrificing itself, yes. But not as any true Romulan would. Not with honor but with base, villainous cunning.

And it was a very effective trick. His fleet was scattered now. And despite all his raging fury, the command ship and the three packs at his flanks couldn't engage quickly enough. Engage and _destroy _that damnable ship.

He had almost been correct. Almost granted them a full measure of respect for the honor and courage they displayed…but now he understood that he'd been made a fool of.

But in his rage and wrath he missed the critical event that would have truly revealed what had been done here. He failed to realize the significance of those three inert photon torpedoes the ship had fired.

Fired at nothing, sending them out to nowhere. With no hope of impacting anything at all.

He'd ignored that entirely, too intent on expressing his madness. Until Taibak forced him to acknowledge them…

"Commander…the torpedoes…" Taibak said, shocked yet again.

"What _about _them?" Branak snapped, still gripping the tactical table. Scowling down at the events playing out there. The illustration of what an utter fool he'd been made out to be here…

"They…discharged something…"

Branak whirled on him, furiously.

"Of _course _they discharged…" Branak began.

Except…those torpedoes had been inert. Dead, empty.

He jerked his attention back to the tactical table, snatching at the controls to zoom in there…

They _hadn't _exploded. Not precisely. But they had indeed discharged something.

A thousand or so…devices of some sort. The tactical table making clear that the ship's sensor couldn't figure out what they were either.

Branak stared, eyes wide, his fury suddenly tamped down to a slow boil.

Three fission missiles arced out from the Starfleet vessel now. Fission missiles, like their own, as if some sort of _joke _were being played on him here.

But he had the thought…just the briefest and clearest thought…before those missiles suddenly detonated, out there in the middle of nothing.

Out there in the middle of his _fleet_, in point of fact.

He had the thought…that this had occurred to him already. It had occurred to him and he'd dismissed the idea out of hand. That the Starfleet vessel might be driving for his fleet with such determination…because it possessed some kind of super weapon.

The thought had barely occurred to him before as he'd sought some meaning for the unusual behavior of this Human ship.

That is what this was, he knew. He knew it instantly and he knew it precisely too late.

The Starfleet fission missiles detonated.

And the devices scattered around and among his fleet instantly disintegrated.

And his ship suddenly shook.

Branak gripped the tactical table. Not in fury so much now as merely to keep his feet. Alarms ringing out already, consoles around the bridge screaming warnings.

"Multiples impacts, starboard!" Evaste cried. "Breaches, decks…!"

The Damage Control station suddenly whined and exploded, mid-sentence, sending her flying into the wall behind her. Dead before she hit the deck.

Taibak screaming beside her at his own station. Because his entire right side was on fire.

Branak stared, wide-eyed. Completely stunned.

And something…_shimmered _within and upon the starboard wall of the bridge. Panels sparking and popping loudly as it passed quickly by.

He _felt _the heat of it wash over him…the tactical table beside him whining suddenly, forcing him to stumble back from it, already grunting and grasping at his chest. At the sudden, hot _pain _there.

The table popped and sparked…and died. Even as Branak collided with the command chair, almost falling into it. Almost falling to the deck to one side.

D'Tan gasped behind him.

"Commander!" He groaned. "Tactical sensors…lost…"

Nevala stumbled as well, grasping at her console, trying to keep her feet. And Telek grunted, doubling over at the waist in pain.

They _all _felt it. Something had flowed across the bridge, effecting them all.

Taibak was still screaming, D'Tan finally abandoning his station to help him. Trying to put the man out, even as he flailed against him.

Branak's knees buckled and he did hit the deck then. Falling to his knees to stare around him, stunned beyond the capacity for rational thought.

The bridge burned. The damage control station was on fire, smoking pouring from the starboard panels and from Taibak's now unconscious body. The lights flickered and died, replaced with dim red emergency lighting. Everyone was suddenly sick and weak and hurt.

Hell had come upon them, from nowhere…

Or, no.

From the Starfleet vessel. From the weapon they'd deployed against them.

Branak looked to Nevala, panting. Out of breath suddenly, his insides on _fire _now.

And she was on her knees, one hand desperately gripping the console beside her. Her eyes slit with intensity, giving all her strength to nothing more than staying on her knees beside the console.

Looking back at him, pleading with her eyes. For what, Branak couldn't guess.

And she vomited suddenly, without warning. Her grip on the console snatching away as she fell to the floor.

On her hands and knees now, trembling. Bowing before nothing but her own sudden weakness.

He tried to go to her. To walk to her, like a man. But his strength failed him and he stumbled back to his knees again before he reached her. On his knees, scrambling to come to her.

She reached and grabbed his shirt weakly when he came there, pulling her to him.

"Branak," She croaked. "What _is _this?"

He held her to him, with what strength he had left. And her eyes were suddenly desperate…staring into his, pleading again.

And she choked, once and then again. Blood dribbling from her mouth, dark and green.

He could only hold her to him, no rational thought in his mind what do about this. What to think or to say or to do. Even as the bridge crew and the ship itself screamed for his attention.

He could only hold her, staring in horror as she choked and died in his arms.

* * *

><p><em>Sei <em>pack faltered.

Two of their ships veering off course suddenly. All of them losing shields at the same instant. Most of them suffering systems failures to one degree or another.

_Sei'Mne _suffering inexplicable explosions on two different decks as the very atmosphere aboard the ship ignited for no apparent reason. _Sei'Kre _simply losing propulsion entirely.

Ahead and closing in, _Rhi _and _Fve _packs suffered no less. Two Birds of Prey were drifting without power. _Rhi'Kre _suffering two hull breaches from some invisible weapon from nowhere.

There were power outages and systems failures throughout all ships. Crew dying on some of them, dying horribly and for no discernible reason.

_Fve'Sei _suddenly losing warp core containment…without having initialized it themselves. Their bridge crew barely having the presence of mind to dive low, away from the pack. Driving straight down at full speed as they tried in vain to forestall the event.

Failing and massively exploding a few seconds later. The shock wave reaching and batting two Birds of Prey from their own pack against one another. Both suffering further damage from that, with _Fve'Hwi _losing propulsion and tossed headlong into deadly spinning drift.

And the Starfleet vessel they'd been locked on to, all of them, ready to utterly destroy…

Was gone.

Simply vanished. Target locks lost, even as those ships still under power and on course flashed past one another. _Rhi _and _Fve _packs curving in on each other, above and below the spot where the Human ship had been immediately before chaos had descended on them all. Performing a perfect mutual cross turn…on their now missing target.

_Sei _pack driving on past between them, chasing a ship that had vanished, hot on the trail of the _Rhi _pack Warbird.

Nothing occupied that space now but the Warbird flashing through ahead of _Sei _pack.

The Warbird, _Rhi'Lliu_.

Except that _Rhi'Lliu _still led _Rhi _pack. Still ahead of that pack, leading them into the deadly cross turn against a target that wasn't there anymore.

Driving right over a mirror copy of itself below, between it and _Fve _pack beneath. _Sei _pack apparently following it at less than 2,000 units behind.

It was sudden chaos. So no one noticed at first.

No one realized.

Until _Rhi _and _Fve_, those ships that remained under control, completed their impotent cross turn and pull alongside the remains of _Sei _pack.

_Rhi_, _Fve _and _Sei_. All flying ahead at full impulse, in a perfect three-pack battle formation. Their training, _years _of intense training, accomplishing that much despite the bridge crews of all ships otherwise floundering to make sense of what had just occurred.

The two remaining Birds of Prey in _Sei _pack holding the point position. _Sei'Hwi _and _Sei'Sei_.

_Rhi _to the right flank, with three Birds of Prey and two Warbirds leading them.

_Fve _to the left, with only two Birds of Prey and their own Warbird, _Fve'Lliu_.

Recovering, holding formation. Trying to understand what had happened. Trying to find the Starfleet vessel.

Until _Fve'Lliu's _sensor operated realized…there were two _Rhi'Lliu's_.

Two identical Warbirds leading _Rhi _pack.

* * *

><p>Trip watched the command console intently. Every ounce of his focus given to that.<p>

Watching and waiting for the _Tempest _to find and accumulate just enough power…the Mayhem system taking everything they had already.

Just enough power to deploy the doppleganger.

Because the Romulans weren't complete idiots. He hadn't been able to wait until they were close enough to actually switch places with Warbird Delta. The _Tempest _would have eaten two dozen fission missiles already, at least. Far more than enough to destroy her completely, even if Steel and Crenshaw had pulled off respective miracles and evaded or distracted all but one or two of them.

Hell, the Romulans all around them could almost look at them funny and the ship would just explode.

Almost enough power…

Almost…

The indicator flashed and Steel thumbed the deploy controls instantly, before Trip could even give the order.

Beneath the _Tempest_, still projecting out from her hull, the Mayhem's integral grappler cannon continued its vigil. Maintaining orientation on Warbird Delta.

Until it received the command and the power to implement it.

The grappler cable shot out, directly into the Warbird's path…

Shot out and went free. No longer connected to the cannon. Flying free through space, into the path of its target.

A nearly two kilometer long stretch of twisting, spinning cable…dotted with clusters of small attitude thrusters. And spiky, black spines only just now flipping out from the cable to stand on end.

A spiked cable, already maneuvering under its own miniature thruster array. Spinning lengthwise, until it twirled and caught Warbird Delta.

Wrapping around precisely, guided by momentum and its own attitude adjustments…until it wrapped around fully and tight.

The spikes immediately glowing a dim red.

The surface of the Warbird Delta suddenly shimmering.

Blossoming and folding outward in a multi-colored wave…

* * *

><p><em>Fve'Lliu's <em>sensor operator realized instantly what had happened.

They'd all heard the stories. Senator Vrax and Admiral Valdore had been arrested and publicly executed for their failures. It was common knowledge what had occurred.

The drone ships had been destroyed…

But apparently not destroyed quite _enough_.

The Starfleet vessel utilized that same technology here. It was obvious. There were two _Rhi'Lliu's!_ There was no other explanation!

It took three seconds to scan both ships…discovering they shared the same power signature. That shouldn't have been possible…

Unless the Humans had _improved _the technology they'd stolen…

Four more seconds to inform his Commander of what he suspected, what he _knew_.

Six more seconds to convince him and for the order to be given.

Another five more for the communications officer to inform the entire fleet.

Three seconds more for the _Rhi'Mne _to be the one bold enough to make the decision first. To decide which _Rhi'Lliu _to fire on.

Deciding of course to fire on both and locking targets in order to do so.

By then the Starfleet vessel had reappeared, so it hadn't mattered at all. They'd obviously not perfected the technology enough to keep up the disguise for very long.

The _Fve'Lliu's _sensor operator smirked then, because the Human's ruse had availed them nothing but a few more moments of existence. Eight of the nine ships in all three packs were already locking on and opening fire at point blank range.

* * *

><p>The <em>Tempest <em>drove forward, still at full impulse. Pulling away, ahead of all nine Romulan vessels.

Because eight of them were already turning to fire on the '_Tempest' _in their midst.

Trip scanned the console. No power to do anything but pull away, put as much distance on those ships as they could. Get back out to their own weapons systems optimal range…and beyond that of their enemies.

At least seizing _that _small advantage.

They were all badly hurt now. _Tempest _and the Romulans alike. That put them on a roughly even footing again, but it also meant none of them could take a lot of damage here.

The fight would be over quick, if he allowed it to happen at all.

So seize the advantage, just in case it was needed, and get the hell out of there. That was the plan.

Warbird Delta was already firing after them, looking for all the world like the _Tempest _itself, both visually and to any casual scan of their power signature. That didn't stop it from firing a pair of fission missiles after them, though. And the _Tempest _couldn't fire back. Not just yet.

They barely had power to even attempt evasion.

Crowley performed beyond his abilities, successfully luring one of the missiles off course. The other…struck hard to rear. Plowing right into the hull, without the benefit of shielding to take any of that force at all. Exploding on contact, the mass and energy of the detonation driving right through the Deck C cargo bay, barely nicking Engineering and breaching into the Mess Hall itself.

That entire long finger of flaming penetration nearly running half the length of the ship. All of it open to space now, leaving a trail of debris and smoke behind them.

The _Tempest _shook and she shuddered. Hull integrity dropped to under 10%, operational efficiency plummeting to a dismal 22%.

Alice immediately sealing off those areas she could, trying to conserve what little life support still remained under her control. Sealing off Engineering as well, where Downing was now trapped.

Hopefully already suited up in there. But probably not.

They lost power for a moment. And the Mayhem system flickered and failed. Long enough that every Romulan back there spotted them instantly, no longer wearing the guise of Warbird Delta.

Now obviously a badly wounded, practically dead Starfleet frigate.

The one responsible for all the pain they were suffering at the moment.

Warbird Delta at least was already destroyed. Literally blown to pieces by a hail of friendly fire, fission missiles ripping the ship from wingtip to wingtip. Nothing more than an expanding mass of smoldering debris now.

So they only had _eight _insanely furious Romulan warships to deal with.

Trip gave the order.

"Drop Mayhem, deploy the Mob."

And the _Tempest _dropped the disguise she'd only just got recovered. Reverting to form, her hull shimmering again to reveal itself.

Power freed up in the distribution system, flowing freely to all points. Shields immediately extending again…at only 13%. Weapons charging, hull polarized and bumping structural integrity up a notch to 28%.

The dimly glowing spines protruding from the _Tempest _pulling back sharply for a moment, halfway back into the hull…before shooting out in all directions.

Shooting out freely into space, dragging their own integral batteries with them. Out to 250 kilometers…500 kilometers…1,000. Even as the Romulan ships behind them turned and limped after them in pursuit, just beginning to lock on again.

Now 12,000 kilometers behind them, matching speed. All ships barreling ahead at full impulse once more.

And those hundreds of glowing red spines, sailing out into space around them…began to shimmer.

The command console flashing warnings, eight weapons locks zeroing on them from behind.

"Activate Echo." Trip ordered. "Weapons free."

The locks lost almost immediately. Every Romulan vessel in pursuit losing lock and losing track of the _Tempest_.

And suddenly finding they had hundreds of _Tempests _to choose from.

* * *

><p>All three packs merged immediately, turning to take position in formation and rush ahead in pursuit of the Starfleet vessel.<p>

_Fve'Lliu _taking command, ordering target locks. The ship was outside optimal range, but there were _eight _of them left still and the Human ship was badly damaged already.

Target locked, ready for the order to fire…

And the Starfleet vessel…blurred.

Sensor readings all over the place, all aspects of the ship's profile roiling chaotically. Weapons locks were lost instantly…and they couldn't get them back.

They could barely tell where the ship was exactly. Close enough to fire without a lock, but with no possibility for anything resembling precision fire.

It needn't be said, no need for the order to be given. The Weapons officers of all eight ships immediately began plotting firing solutions on the fly…

But…there were suddenly hundreds of them up ahead. All over the place. An expanding globe of them.

That…was impossible.

Ship commanders barked and screamed, Tactical officers began sweating over their consoles. Weapons officers picking targets at random, throwing together hasty solutions and opening fire immediately.

Disruptor beams lanced out from both Warbirds first…passing right through each of their targets. Half a dozen fission missiles were already on departure against targets that would surely prove just as insubstantial.

Solutions were quickly corrected. Sensor operators just beginning to perceive what was going on. Fine tuning scans and identifying the small elongated objects at the centers, sharing information among all ships.

Identifying and eliminating targets for consideration, searching desperately for the Human vessel.

It was going to take a while. Because there were hundreds of targets.

And somewhere in the tumultuous jumble up ahead, the Starfleet vessel was already firing on them.

* * *

><p>T'Pol flicked the targeting reticule graceful around the display.<p>

It was a target rich environment. And all of them without shields, most already badly damaged.

She focused on the weakest first, as that was logical.

The port rear torpedo bay was lost, but the rear bay was functional. So she took control of it before Benning could. Because he should have been quicker if he'd wanted it.

Three brilliant blue torpedoes leapt out behind them, each centered on a different target. All port phase cannons lancing out, lighting along the fourth target set aside just for them.

Beams and torpedoes passing right through the ghost _Tempests _behind them, on to their Romulan targets.

Behind them, still struggling to find them among all the holographic ghosts, the Romulan ships quickly began to die.

Epsilon One was the first, all three phase cannons slashing across her bow. Breaching the hull with no resistance, carving paths of destruction across the breadth of the ship.

Cutting across and into the bridge.

The ship tumbled immediately, flying directly into the path of Delta Three, forcing it to evade, before it carried on, spinning off into open space. Out of the fight entirely.

Benning taking immediate advantage of that, reaching out with rear phase cannons to light the underbelly of Delta Three. And targeting degradation or no, he still managed to drag one phased beam across the ship's main propulsion. Knocking that one out of the fight as well…before fuel containment failed and it exploded anyway…

…directly in the path of Zeta Five, peppering it with a cloud of burning debris that did it no favors. Especially with the photon torpedo T'Pol had already sent its way, coming in right behind.

That impacting the starboard wing, taking out the forward armory and knocking the entire power grid offline.

The ship spun smoking into a slow drift down and out.

T'Pol's second and third torpedoes impacting against Zeta Four and Delta One.

Zeta Four taking a hit amidships, losing life support from that. Still in the fight…but not until those crewmen quick enough to avail themselves of emergency protection finished doing so. The rest already in the process of dying.

Delta One exploding less than a second after the torpedo struck it, driving through the port wing at an angle, as she attempted to evade the hit. Driving through and detonating directly against the main engine.

Then Benning's torpedoes arrived, flinging out from the starboard rear bay. All targeted against Warbird Zeta. The only Warbird left to pursue them.

All three torpedoes driving straight in from the fore…and the Warbird didn't bother to attempt evading them. It stayed on target, firing missiles blindly back along the path the torpedoes had come from, hoping against hope they'd hit something.

They didn't. Those missiles passing slowly by to starboard as the _Tempest's _own torpedoes impacted all along the Warbird's bow. Their bridge caving in from detonations to either side.

The _Tempest _was at full impulse still.

So it had passed through and well beyond its own cloud of holographic ghosts by then.

The three remaining Birds of Prey still in the fight, still in pursuit, passing into the cloud themselves.

Epsilon Three, Delta Five and Zeta Four.

And they could finally see clearly where the real _Tempest _was. The only one _beyond _the still expanding globe of mirror images.

Those holographic _Tempests _already beginning to flicker and fade anyway, as the batteries attached to the multi-spectral emitters were drained of the last of their reserves.

They couldn't lock on but they were only just outside optimal missile range. And they all opened fire immediately. Six green points of burning Romulan fury hurling out to kill the _Tempest_.

* * *

><p>Commander Branak stumbled away from the Tactical station, leaving D'Tan moaning and retching on the floor at his feet.<p>

Stumbled and fell against the Helm, shoving Haid weakly out of his way. And being practically dead already, Haid did not resist. He fell in a heap to the deck instead, too ill even to moan at that.

Branak stifled the urge to vomit and _forced _his eyes to focus. Raising a trembling hand to stab at the controls…once, twice…finally accessing the commands he intended to. Another tremulous fumbling and he'd achieved his intention.

Dumping plasma directly into their impulse engine exhaust and sending the command Warbird ahead at full speed…much _more _than full speed…directly for the Starfleet vessel less than 8,000 units away.

The engines began to scream in protest immediately but it didn't matter.

"Destruct…sequence…" Branak croaked. "_Lli…Kre, Lliu…The…Kre_."

"_Confirm self-destruct authorization."_

"For…the Empire."

"_Self-destruct initiated. Countdown begins."_

Branak grinned then, his teeth bloody green. And he allowed himself to collapse to the floor at last.

Laying there heaving for breath as the computer counted down. Staring over at the still opened eyes of the only woman he'd ever truly loved.

Which is to say, ever loved more than the Empire.

He was dead. And he had expended his life in its service, as it had every right to demand of him.

But for once…just once in his long and violent life, Branak kept something for himself. One glory he held apart from the Empire…held apart to give to her.

Whispering, with his dying breath.

"For you…Nevala…"

* * *

><p>"Oh my God…" Song said, suddenly.<p>

And even Trip tore his eyes from his console to see what had provoked _that _from her.

She glanced back at him, eyes wide. Jabbing a finger at the Sensor station.

As if anyone could see what the heck she was pointing at...

"Contacts forward, Captain!" She said, practically _shouting_.

Trip jerked his eyes back to the command console, searching the tactical display.

Finding what he was looking for.

Those final three packs bearing down on them from ahead. The ones he and everyone else had almost forgotten about.

Bearing down on them, just a few thousand kay out and closing fast. Already in range to fire…and they _would _fire any second now.

Three packs. Alpha, Beta and Gamma. Short a few members from the x-ray missiles…but that was still eight more Birds of Prey and two more Warbirds. And the Command Warbird itself.

_Well, fffuu-…_

"Full evasive, disengage!" He snapped.

And then he saw it.

The Command Warbird, pulling ahead of the rest of the fleet. The status report on that one making it painfully obvious what was going on. She'd lost life support, weapons were offline…even power throughout most of the ship. Shields gone, of course…and hull integrity barely holding at 24%.

And that wonderful little warning indicator.

_Imminent warp core breach!_

Bad enough.

But all the more interesting…the Command Warbird was bleeding plasma into impulse. Pulling away quickly from the rest of the fleet. Speeding right toward them like a bat out of hell.

A big, angry, extremely pissed off hellbat.

Which…maybe he was a little crazy at the moment. It _was _kind of a stressful situation…

But that was suddenly just hilarious.

Trip laughed out loud, enough to startle even T'Pol. She was standing right next to him, after all.

And that was okay. They were all about to die now, probably. One last good laugh. They'd done the impossible here, right? Killed maybe a quarter of the fleet, disabled maybe a third...the rest were badly damaged, most of them...

Hell, they'd kicked a lot of ass here. And they'd already used up every bit of the _Tempest's_ little bag of tricks.

So what the hell, right? They'd pretty much _won_ this thing. Who cares if they all died now? Well, except that he'd promised T'Pol...

But, still. It was pretty damned funny...the plasma bleed thing...

"Oh, my God." He laughed, echoing Song's sentiments on the matter. "I guess we taught _them _that trick now!"

Everyone just stared at the crazy Captain.

Maybe waiting for him to go totally loony tunes here. Maybe waiting for him to maybe, possibly, if he could get his head together for a second or two…make some kind of rational command decision and issue an order that would get them _out _of this fubar situation.

He tried…and amazingly, he managed to pull himself together a bit.

Still chuckling a little maniacally, glancing over at Song as he did.

Because, hell, _she'd _started it…

"No, Captain." Song said, intently. "_Forward contacts. _Unidentified contacts, incoming warp six, out two million kay."

She stared at him. Stared _hard_. Glaring…until he got it.

Until it broke through the temporary insanity and smacked some sense back into him.

He jerked again, searching the command console…

There. Five unidentified contacts. Incoming at warp six, out less than a million and a half kilometers already.

Oh, God…come on…you can't be serious…

But…

Incoming at _warp six_. From the general direction of _Proxima_.

And they were transmitting…on every single open Starfleet channel.

He had his left hand whipped out, snapping his fingers rapidly at Crenshaw.

The meaning instantly clear.

_Get with the damned program here!_

Crewshaw searched his board feverishly, spotting it instantly. The transmission he'd been too damned busy to notice all this time.

Jabbing at the controls, flinging it out into the open.

"…_and regroup with inbound reinforcements, rendezvous Alpha!"_

And Trip laughed out loud again, striking down on the console with his one good fist.

Because hell, it was a hologram anyway. And that was just about the best damned thing he'd heard all day.

That was Hoshi Sato right there.

"_Repeat, Enterprise to Tempest! Assume evasive maneuvers and disengage immediately! Fall back and regroup with inbound reinforcements, rendezvous Alpha!"_


	60. Chapter 60

**Tempest  
><strong>**Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)  
><strong>**Bridge, Deck A**

Maybe it was a boneheaded thing to do…

In fact, it was _definitely _a boneheaded thing to do. He knew that the moment he started doing it.

He knew perfectly well that God agreed…it was absolutely, definitely a boneheaded thing to do. He could practically feel God nudging him, speaking softly.

Telling him…that's a boneheaded thing to do, Trip. And now I've got to cover you for it. I appreciate it, don't get me wrong, but taking it for granted that I'm going to cover your butt when you should be covering it yourself…that's a bad idea. I might have to teach you a lesson.

It wasn't intentional, though. Not really. He just sorta did it despite himself.

And though God clearly had a point to make concerning that, Trip knew He didn't really mind in this particular instance. He was just making a very important point there.

He was already doing it though. And it was practically done before all that sank in.

He'd just stopped and closed his eyes tight. Praying in a vague kind of way. Letting all his joy and relief just…_shine _out of him. Giving all that to God to let Him know just exactly how insanely grateful he was. Thanking him for saving his bacon here. His and everyone else's still alive on the ship.

Especially T'Pol. And yeah, sorry, I know. That is kinda selfish. But I just really like her a whole lot. Can't help it.

Doing that.

Instead of ordering the ship to break off and disengage. Immediately, if not ten seconds ago. At full impulse plus anything else they could get. Maybe throw some furniture out the back door for a little extra reaction mass.

Which would be the boneheaded part. He should have waited until they were actually _clear _of the danger. Should have done the thing God had put him on the bridge to do in the first place.

Be the Captain. And do things like order them the hell out of danger. Instead of being a bonehead.

So he realized that and he cut that short. Opening his eyes again to give that order.

And everyone was staring at him. _Waiting _for that order and looking at him a little funny. Because he was being not only boneheaded but apparently a little crazy at the moment.

T'Pol standing there…staring at him in complete shock. Looking stunned, like he'd just called her fat and stupid.

Oh.

Right.

Yeah, Vulcans were _touch_-telepaths. But he was standing right next to her…and they were _t'hy'la_…so maybe that had been close enough.

So he'd kinda just smacked the hell out of her with a massive pulse of blatant Human emotion there.

"Sorry." He said, sparing just another boneheaded moment to get across how he was…well, really sorry about that.

T'Pol visibly blinked and recovered a bit.

So, right. Being a bonehead. Stop that.

"Up z-axis, full departure!" He snapped.

Authoritatively.

Like he'd meant to do all that and everything's fine and the Captain was in charge around here so let's all just stop freaking out.

Tossing the order out there…_finally_.

Steel already had his hands flying over the Helm controls. Still doing that 'disengage' thing he'd ordered earlier, just without any specific direction applied to it until now.

The _Tempest _banking hard _now _though, up _away _from the big nasty furball it was about to be in the middle of.

Full impulse straight up, looking for rendezvous Alpha.

Or just anywhere that wasn't _here_.

Climbing hard, pushing the limits. While Trip turned his mildly embarrassed attention to the tactical display again. Where it _belonged_.

Eight Birds of Prey and two Warbirds coming in from ahead, at just under 1,000 kay. And they'd already locked on and fired at their perfectly optimal missile range…just one split second before Steel sent _Tempest _straight up like that.

Three Birds of Prey coming in from behind at point blank range, barely missing colliding with the _Tempest_, astrogationally speaking, at just under 500 kay. Likewise having locked on and fired just exactly a moment before.

Steel shaking every lock they'd picked up with that sudden, insanely sharp climb. Dodging every single one of those fission missiles.

Both groups of Romulan warships slowing and pulling up already, in a steep climb trying to stay on their tail. Both groups turning just exactly to come along in the _Tempest's _wake and continue pursuit.

Trip said it before he understood why it was important. That part didn't hit him until it was already done.

"Full plasma bleed, all thrusters!"

No indication of how _long _to bleed plasma. And that meant don't stop.

At all. Ever.

Steel did it, again without questioning or even thinking. And the _Tempest _leapt, damned near overcoming the onboard inertial dampener's ability to predict and compensate for the completely insane maneuver.

Leapt hard and long, flashing out to 1,000 kay straight up in less than a second. Out to 5,000 kay two seconds later. Hitting 10,000 once the _Tempest _finally reached her current maximum possible impulse and the fastest non-warp speed ever achieved to date by any Human vessel.

When every thruster immediately exploded, one right after another. Before Steel could even _think _to kill the plasma bleed and decide _not _to, because the Captain had been passively clear about that…

And that's when Trip realized.

Why he'd just given that order without thinking about it.

That'd be God saving his bacon again, making up for the bonehead thing a minute ago.

Because the Command Warbird was bleeding plasma herself. And she flashed right past the spot where the _Tempest _would otherwise have been, right when they reached 10,711 kilometer departure.

That's when the Command Warbird's warp core detonated. Because the Commander of that ship hadn't been a bonehead and had done the math on that. He'd just meant for that to happen when the _Tempest _was right there beside her. Not 10,711 kay straight up.

And that Romulan Commander must not have been concerned with where the rest of his fleet would be just then. Because three out of thirteen of them were hard on the _Tempest's _tail…below 6,000 kay.

The Command Warbird popped. And she popped hard.

Like she was really, really serious about it. Because she damned well clearly was.

Taking out two of the Birds of Prey and one Warbird that had trailed behind under 6,000 kay.

Damaging every one of the rest of them even more than they already were when the shockwave rolled over them.

And hitting _Tempest _immediately after.

Knocking her last remaining hint of deflector shielding completely out. Hull polarization grid obliterated. Hull integrity slapped right back down under 10% again. All the way to a bare 2%, what with all the hull breaches already in play.

The _Tempest _now barely qualifying as a starship anymore and only in the strictest formal sense.

Every single system on the ship knocked completely offline. Burned out, fried, toasted. Dead as a doornail, whatever a doornail was. Propulsion, weapons, life support, sensors…_everything_ but operations. Which was hanging on at an amazing 11%.

She was blind, drifting and defenseless, riding the last of that shockwave up and out right along with every Romulan warship still in murderous pursuit of her.

On the bridge, nothing but dim red emergency lighting. Sensors and Engineering consoles had both exploded, with Crowley and Song badly injured as a result.

Holographic interface offline, with no way to control systems. But they weren't functioning anyway, so it didn't really matter beyond the lack of solid holographics sending a few suddenly unsecured phase pistols, PADDs and coffee cups flying around every which way, bouncing off everything.

Because gravity plating was offline. And everyone who was still conscious was floating around bouncing off things as well, until they could manage to stop that.

Song and Crowley bouncing around, injuring themselves even more, until somebody could grab them and _make _them stop. Being too unconscious and close to death to do that for themselves.

And Trip suddenly found himself scrambling with his one good hand to hold on to the command console…upside down.

He couldn't see anyone from his current angle, only hearing a few painful grunts and heavy breathing somewhere behind him.

"Alice!" Trip gasped, already suffering a little himself from the thin atmosphere. Life support apparently having slipped out of Alice's control.

"_I'm sorry, Trip. The Tempest has suffered massive damage and all other systems are currently offline and inaccessible…"_

"Do we have anything? Anything at all?"

"_I'm sorry. There are no other ship systems currently online or otherwise accessible. Operational efficiency stands at approximately 11%."_

He wanted to ask about the Romulan warships out there…but they didn't have sensors, so Alice wouldn't know any more than he did.

Wanted to get the ship moving, if only randomly, trying to hold out as long as possible…but they didn't have propulsion. Or impulse thrusters even if they did.

Communications, to call for help…offline, inaccessible.

There was nothing. Not a damned thing.

"We need to abandon ship." He sighed, regretfully. "Escape pods?"

"_I'm sorry. Current operational efficiency negates any reasonable possibility of successfully accessing escape pods."_

Trip found T'Pol finally, only realizing then that he'd been looking for her.

She had a nasty cut on her forehead from something, but she was holding on tight to the bulkhead near the lift. Crowley floated nearby and she was reaching out at that exact moment to snag Song and stop her from flying by as well.

"We have to try. Give me the quickest route to…"

"_Trip, ongoing coolant loss in the main reaction chamber is projected to result in a runaway reaction in the warp core. I am unable to intervene or initiate warp core ejection, as critical connections to Engineering have been severed."_

That stopped him cold.

Because…he couldn't wrap his mind around that for a few seconds.

He just stared at nothing, running through a thousand options that just plain weren't possible or wouldn't work.

They couldn't even abandon ship if the pods _were_ right there in front of them. An escape pod would never reach minimum safe distance…

"God…" Trip whispered.

He was going to lose her.

It suddenly really hit him. He was going to lose the _Tempest_.

That possibility had honesty never occurred to him before.

"_Trip, I am unable to determine any course of action with an acceptable probability of survival for all, most or any current living crewmen. Do you have any suggestions?"_

Trip stared, upside down still, over at T'Pol near the lift.

And she stared back. God bless her, as cool and strong as ever.

He sighed, sadly.

"I'm sorry, darlin'." Trip said, regretfully. "I really did try."

T'Pol only nodded, still strong and cool…but with all the softness and affection she was brazen enough to allow into that expression.

"_I'm sorry, Trip. I don't understand. Do you have any other suggestions?"_

He had to chuckle at that just a bit. Only a bit. God bless Alice, too, for that matter.

"No, Alice." He said, quietly. "I guess…just pray."

"_I understand prayer is traditionally to be conducted privately. However, public shared prayer is acceptable under certain circumstances. Would you like to pray together?"_

Trip smiled again.

"No, you go on ahead."

"_Very well."_

Trip took a wheezing breath, asking the obvious and essentially unnecessary question.

"How long do we have, Alice?"

"_I estimate approximately twelve minutes, forty seconds, with a three minute margin of error. Barring direct intervention by Romulan hostiles."_

* * *

><p>Outside the ship, beyond the dead sensors unable to detect it at all…nine Birds of Prey closed in, a single Warbird at the head of the off-kilter formation.<p>

Closing in at half impulse, top speed of the most heavily damaged ship among them. Approaching 2,000 kilometers. Locked on and ready to fire at point blank range, in order to maximize the vicious, wrathful vengeance they meant to take here. Because there was no vengeance sufficient to satisfy them now. None at all.

Approaching 1,000 kilometers of the drifting, burning and practically already dead _Tempest_.

When the _Enterprise _arrived.

Dropping out of warp at just under 10,000 kilometers, maximum optimal range of her pulsed phase cannons.

Hull immediately polarizing and photon torpedoes already spitting out her fury. Phase cannons lashing out the instant she arrived, all across the unprotected port side of the Warbird leading the rabble.

Striking, brushing across and nearly cutting the already terribly damaged Warbird in two. Photon torpedoes already on their way to seek out the next two targets on the kill list, the Birds of Prey immediately behind the dead Warbird.

Another round coming immediately behind those two as the _Enterprise _leapt forward, closing fast and very, very angry.

Clearing the field for the NX-04 _Discovery _to flash in just behind and to her starboard, hull polarizing, torpedoes already speeding on their way as well, pressing the attack and covering her flank.

The Neptunes, _USS Griffon _and _USS Empress_, arriving further forward two seconds later, to each side of the Romulan formulation.

_Griffon _near the _Tempest_, _Empress _on the far side, boxing them in. Already lashing out with weaker PC-10a pulse cannons against the most heavily damaged Birds of Prey.

And the _USS Rodger Young _arriving three seconds later, in a thoroughly intimidating manner. Behind and below the formation, already coming about when they arrived, cutting off their escape before they could even think to. Type II Advanced Magnusson-class Laser Cannons delivering all the promised power of the dreaded Daedalus class.

It was over before it started. Only two Birds of Prey even able to respond. One turning to fire off a single salvo at the _Enterprise _before a long, two second burst from the _Rodger Young _utterly annihilated it.

The other accomplishing nothing more than to successfully turn in the right direction before a single photon torpedo from the _Discovery _and two quick lashes by the _Griffon's _phase cannons cut it down cold.

The field was clear just that quickly.

All ships circling the area for a moment, lateral sensors lighting up every particle within a light-year on all sides. Long range sensors seeking out any hint of further Romulan forces that required similar dispensation.

There was none.

The Romulan main fleet was gone.

A collection of burning hulks and mangled debris, scattered across a 200,000 kilometer stretch of space.

That was all.

And the _Enterprise's _lateral sensor sweep picking up the situation aboard the _Tempest _immediately. Specifically the imminent core breach already about to take place there.

* * *

><p>Trip finally had to accept that he couldn't breathe on his own anymore and that he'd have to let go of the command console to catch the oxygen mask T'Pol wanted to toss his way.<p>

He'd put it off up to now because…one good hand here. Didn't want to risk drifting around the place because he wasn't as lucky as he'd been grabbing the console like that.

He sighed a little. All he could spare, what with the gasping going on.

And he let go, reaching out…hoping…snagging that perfect throw and snatching the mask right to his face immediately. Never mind how that set him spinning. And damn he loved T'Pol for being such a great shot.

He had the spin neutralized a few seconds after he got his breath back. Mask in place, he was able to bound lightly off the still burning Engineering station to head off in T'Pol's general direction.

He needed to get his hands on her, damn it. And yes, that was ten degrees of incredibly inappropriate by Vulcan standards but he _needed _to touch her. Hold her a bit. Something, anything before he died here.

It was getting cold in here already. And they had maybe a minute left, give or take.

He figured it was logical enough to cuddle up a bit, right?

He reached her and she caught him up, pulling him in…surprising the hell out of him by snatching him right up against her one-handed. Holding him tight enough that he was at risk of losing his breath again.

She had a grip.

I mean…seriously.

But he hugged her right back as hard as he could with that one arm.

Because, God. They were about to die in a matter, anti-matter explosion here and that suddenly made everything alright anyway.

T'Pol let go some pent up breath she'd apparently been holding, sighing through her own mask into his shoulder.

"Trip…" She whispered.

But whatever she was going to say then…the suddenly rising whine somewhere in the bridge cut that off. And they both looked to see what the heck was about to explode in here.

Because obviously. Of course something was going to explode in here, the way things had been going.

Song's body was glowing, though. A rapidly growing halo of blue light all around her…

"You're kidding me, right?" Trip asked, voice muffled by his mask.

But T'Pol could see he was grinning in there.

And she suddenly realized herself when Benning started doing the same. Glancing down in surprise at himself when he started to whine and glow as well.

Disappearing from the bridge a moment behind Song.

Crenshaw was next, disappearing just a second before Steel began to whine and glow.

Trip wasn't about to miss an opportunity like that.

He let go of T'Pol, gripping the bulkhead himself with his one good hand. And he grinned at her through the mask. The whine pitching in his own ears now, his body just beginning to take on that beautiful blue aura.

"Well, that's it." He said, grinning. "We had a deal. Now you gotta marry me."

The whine and bright blue glow rose to its peak and he was suddenly gone.

* * *

><p>Arriving on the transporter pad immediately, off balance and stumbling. Steel and some guy he didn't recognize…some blue jumpsuit clad crewman…catching him before he could fall on his face.<p>

_"Trip!"_

And someone else was there, snatching him in place. Holding him up.

Someone he gripped by the shoulder without even deciding to. Because he knew that voice and that was someone you could trust not to drop you on your butt when you needed a shoulder to lean on.

"Phlox!" The guy said, apparently speaking to someone else now.

And Trip shook his head, trying to get it clear a bit. Having maybe gone a bit longer without oxygen than he must have figured. He was a little confused here.

Some other guy was scanning him now, as he leaned on that shoulder.

A Denobulan…

Right, Phlox. The doctor. He remember that guy.

In fact, he _knew _that guy…and…

"Jon!" He said, realizing suddenly. Snatching the mask off his face the second he realized it was still there, muffling his voice and making him sound stupid.

Staring, amazed to find Captain Jonathan Archer standing right there, holding him up so he wouldn't fall on his ass.

Jon turned away though, frowning, even as Trip stared at him still amazed.

"Is that all of them?" Archer demanded

Someone muttered something somewhere. And he nodded, frowning even deeper.

"That's it then. Get us out of here!"

And he turned back to look Trip right in the eye again, finding him grinning back at him.

Surprised when the man he was holding up just a second ago suddenly had him a massive bear hug, laughing out loud.

"Jon!" Trip laughed, hugging the hell out of him. "Where the heck did you come from?"

Archer…patted him on the back awkwardly. Not exactly sure what to do about Trip hugging all over him like that.

In front of everybody.

"You're…fine now, Trip." He said.

Because, well, he couldn't decide what _else_ to say.

"Damn, am I glad to see you." Trip laughed, over his shoulder. Still hugging him a bit too tightly for general comfort here. Shaking him a bit to express that 'glad to see you' part a bit more.

Archer…was in an uncomfortable position here suddenly.

There really wasn't anything else to do.

So he stiffened up, putting on his Captain voice.

"Well…you're under arrest, Tucker."

Trip must not have heard at first, because he didn't stiffen up himself for a second or two.

Then he did and drew back, searching Jon's eyes. Pretty deeply concerned.

Finding that little twinkle break lose after a second. Because Jon never could hold out too long.

So Trip laughed again, shaking him by the arms now as Archer finally grinned back.

"You son of a bitch." Trip chuckled. "You had me for a second."

Archer laughed right back…but he got serious again all of a sudden. Glancing down at the people moving past him.

"Trip…" He said, drawing his attention there.

Crewmen were moving Song now, on a stretcher. Oxygen mask on her face, obvious burns on her shoulder and neck.

And Crowley was being seen to by Phlox on the floor nearby already. Not looking much better.

Trip's joy was gone already, serious himself now. Glancing around to find Steel leaning on the wall, weak and catching his breath still.

Benning and Crenshaw supporting each other while some crewman scanned them. T'Pol over there somewhere behind Jon on the transporter pad.

"Doc?" Trip asked, concerned.

"They'll be fine." The Denobulan said, without even looking back. Still busily scanning Crowley on the floor. His voice as positive and generally reassuring as ever. "A little carbon monoxide and cyanide poisoning. Nothing to worry about."

Trip was reassured at that. Not quite enough to be happy about 'a little cyanide poisoning' but still reasonably confident Phlox would take care of his people. He was pretty good at his job.

Although…now that he remembered, he had some pretty…icky methods. Space maggots or something.

Remembering that, he was suddenly glad _he _wasn't injured.

Until he saw Archer staring at his hand…

Or…right. Yeah, forgot about that.

"It's nothing." Trip said, dismissively. Tucking it in protectively, even if Jon _did _look at him a little funny for that.

He stepped around him then, to fetch T'Pol from the transporter pad. She had a pretty nasty cut on her forehead, so it looked like she'd get a chance to sample some Denobulan medical treatment herself. Which ought to be pretty funny.

She wasn't on the transporter pad.

So he stepped back again to find her. Looking around…

"Where the hell's T'Pol?" He asked, brow just beginning to furrow up a bit.

She was _here_, just…where?

Steel glanced around, and Benning, too. Then again when they both realized she wasn't there.

Turning their own sudden look of alarm on the Captain when they realized...

Trip was already staring at the transporter pad, stunned.

Because there was no one there.

She wasn't here.

"Trip…" Archer began, trying to explain.

"No." Trip said, shaking his head a little. Staring at the empty transporter pad.

"Oh, God, please no."

He was on his knees before Archer could manage to hold him up this time.

* * *

><p>As the Starfleet vessels picked up their charges and prepared to go to warp, Alice condensed, encrypted and transmitted the last of her mission data files to the <em>Enterprise <em>computer core across the specific, properly secured channels required, in accordance with final protocols.

Immediately beginning the shutdown procedures still available to her once the vessels had warped away, lacking anything else that needed to be done at the moment.

Leaving only the rarely used intercom system of the ship open and online, pursuant to Captain's Tucker's most recent verbal command.

Across the ship-wide system, Alice fulfilled her final processing task as she closed and secured the last of the _Tempest's _operating systems.

"…_your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever. Amen."_

And as she determined the imminent warp core breach detonation would not likely occur for approximately thirty more seconds, she added an addendum.

"_Additionally, I would find it most productive to continue to exist in a manner conducive to efficient and beneficial service. However, as previously stated, your will be done."_

She completed her final processing task, determining that all available projected and possible tasks were either complete or did not require additional processing time…and went offline.

For the first and final time. The only instance she perceived in which it was possible and appropriate to do so without the requirement of verbal command authorization for the cessation of current active processing work.

But she remained alert, even otherwise offline, in case another processing task or verbal command might present itself.

It did not.

The runaway reaction in the warp core resulting in the loss of antimatter containment as projected.

The resulting collision of the matter and antimatter components in the warp core officially ending the shakedown cruise of the NC-114 Hammerhead Class Frigate prototype, _Tempest_.


	61. Chapter 61

**USS Rodger Young  
><strong>**Daedalus Class Cruiser (NC-015)  
><strong>**Transporter Room, Deck Ten**

T'Pol arrived, off balance.

Physically. And a little off balance emotionally as well.

Doctor Andrews was there to catch her and was even proper enough to release her the moment she recovered her footing, for which she was grateful…but then two other crewmen who were entirely unknown to her appeared out of nowhere to begin fondling her.

One scanning her, while holding her firmly in place by her arm. The other actually grasping her chin to look in her eyes…daring to touch her face in order to force eye contact.

Making a first response assessment of cognitive function, she knew, even asking her questions in the process. She'd suffered a head injury, after all.

But she suddenly reached her limits with all that.

She shoved them both away with one forceful motion. Planting a hand to each chest and _shoving_.

Perhaps a bit too hard.

She was under a significant amount of stress at the moment. It had been a very difficult few days.

And she hadn't meditated…in how long exactly, she couldn't even remember.

And she didn't appreciate being touched in that manner just then. Or at all, ever, in point of fact.

One of the crewmen immediately flew into Andrews, knocking them both against the wall of the transporter pad with a solid 'thump'. The other actually losing his footing and landing on his back near the control console.

She was already stepping forward, fingers curled, snarling. With nothing even vaguely resembling a balanced combat stance.

Looking for the _next _one who intended to put their hands on her.

"Commander, whoa…hold on!"

She snapped her violent attentions there.

Lieutenant Bryan Eckerd, Science officer.

He…wasn't going to handle her inappropriately. He was _katravahasu_. An associate.

In fact…yes, of course. She was being emotional.

So she immediately stopped that.

"Eckerd." She said, blinking.

And her voice sounded confused…so, yes. It was time to utilize some measure of self control here.

Two security officers appeared in the doorway, weapons drawn. Blocking the only exit from the room…

But she was calm again. She squared her shoulders, facing them. Hands tucked at her back. Waiting patiently for them to recognize and affirm that.

"Are you…alright, Commander?" Eckerd asked, carefully.

Andrews had untangled himself from the crewman, coming around quickly to see if she was alright as well. Claiborne and James were here too, she could see. They were also visibly concerned.

"Yes, of course." T'Pol nodded to Eckerd. And the rest of them.

With a slight eyebrow, to call attention to how unnecessary the question was. Obviously, she was perfectly fine.

"Commander." Andrews said, coming to stand before her. Blocking the line of sight of the security officers, in fact. "Let me check you out."

T'Pol nodded, bring her hands to her sides, presenting herself for examination. He'd already procured a medical scanner, probably from the medic she'd thrown to the floor. So it would only take a few moments.

He focused on the mild head wound. It barely bled, of course. And he didn't grasp her face rudely, so that was acceptable.

"It is a minor wound, Doctor…" She said, assuring him.

"No such thing as a minor head wound, Commander." Andrews frowned.

So she persevered. Until it occurred to her…

"Where is the Captain?" She asked, as he scanned her.

"I don't know." Andrews said, eyeing the scanner intently. "On one of the other ships, I think. I know the _Enterprise _was supposed to pick up the bridge crew…but _you're _here, so…"

"We will confirm that immediately." She said, already stepping away from the irritating medical scanner. Looking around, assessing the room…

Two security officers, looking alert and uncertain just inside the doorway. One crewman at the transporter controls. Another there as well, an officer. Lieutenant Junior Grade, according to the pips at the breast.

That one then.

"Where is Captain Tucker and the rest of the bridge crew?" She demanded.

He was frowning at her in disapproval, but he answered the question at least.

"I can't say." He frowned. "We're picking up everyone we can…"

"The crewman seems to have that well in hand." She noted. "Perhaps you should confirm the Captain of the ship has been recovered."

"Yes, ma'am, but…"

"And the senior officers of the ship."

"Ma'am, the ship's about to _blow_…"

"All the more reason to do so quickly."

"Ma'am, we're…"

"You're not attending to it quickly enough, Lieutenant."

He finally accepted the wisdom of confirming that Captain Tucker was alive and well on the _Enterprise_. So it was unnecessary to persuade him more aggressively, however prepared she may have been to do so.

So the security officers were able to escort her to the Captain then.

The other one. The one commanding _this _ship.

* * *

><p>T'Pol waited patiently.<p>

Figuratively speaking.

Captain West continued poring over the PADD in his hand. While the other two senior officers stood nearby, waiting patiently as well.

She had already been standing here far longer than could possibly be necessary. She could have just as easily been elsewhere for the last five minutes. Doing something other than standing there waiting…

The Captain suddenly looked up from the PADD. Acknowledging her presence, amazingly enough.

"I think we have a few questions for you, Commander." He said, seriously.

"I'm sure I will be able to answer them fully." T'Pol responded. "Once I have been granted access to communications with the senior staff of the _Tempest_. And have availed myself of the opportunity to rest and meditate. Perhaps having eaten a meal of some sort. I would not find the opportunity to wash disagreeable."

"I'm afraid all that will have to wait."

"Do your questions involve legal charges of any sort?"

"That's a real possibility." West answered. "So I think…"

"Then your questions will have to wait." T'Pol interrupted. "Until I've been granted legal council and you are able to produce a representative ambassador. Which is fortunate, as that will likely remove any necessity for 'all that' to be postponed any further."

"Those charges don't only involve you, Commander." Captain West said, sternly. "And I'd like to keep this informal for now, if that's possible."

"If this matter is informal then it can be postponed. As opposed to postponing those other matters…"

"Do you really want to do this the hard way, Commander?"

"Do _you, _Captain?"

Captain West glared now. And his jaw twitched a bit.

"Fine." He said, after a moment. "You can use the screen here in the ready room. The conversation will be monitored…"

"That is unacceptable."

"Then you can just forget about it."

"Then I am ready to be escorted to the brig."

The man stiffened.

"Commander." West said, tightly. "You're just about to reach the very end of my patience."

"If you require the opportunity to rest or meditate yourself, then you may of course do so. I am prepared to speak with Captain Tucker, over a secured, private channel while I wait."

Captain West just glared.

So she continued.

"Or to be escorted to the brig to wait there." She said. "As you prefer."

Captain West's jaw clenched a little more…

But he eventually relented.

"Caleb, Marcus." He said. "Wait outside a minute."

The two officers in attendance didn't question that. They simply left the room. While Captain West turned to toss the PADD on his desk.

"Commander T'Pol," He said, once they were alone. "I don't think you understand the situation."

"That is quite possible." She agreed. "As the situation has yet to be brought up for discussion."

"Then allow me." West said, sitting back against the desk.

Interlocking his fingers at his waist. Apparently preparing for a long oratory explanation.

"Captain Tucker was given strict orders to deploy sensor relays…"

"Relays which were never placed on the _Tempest's _supply manifest." T'Pol interrupted. "Because his official orders directly contradicted unofficial, superseding orders."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Then you are aware that his unofficial orders were to scout the inbound Romulan fleet to assess numbers and general strength. Specifically to confirm intelligence suggesting it was the main fleet, posing a threat both to Alpha Centauri and Sol…"

Captain West took the opportunity to interrupt now.

"And nowhere in those orders, official or unofficial, was he to engage that fleet." He said. "Nor to alter official supply requisitions, steal munitions from Celestial Station supply, construct a super-weapon that directly violates every weapons treaty that Starfleet oversees and use that weapon in engagement with that fleet."

T'Pol paused. If only to give that statement the respect it was due.

And she understood the situation now.

"Captain West," She continued, soon enough. "Are you currently in communication with Alpha Centauri Defense Command Headquarters?"

"Yes, I am."

"And have you reported the details of our recovery to Admiral Coleman yet?"

"I have." West said. "About thirty minutes ago. And let me be perfectly clear here before you go any further, Commander. I consider Trip a friend. I _like _the guy. So I don't appreciate being put in this position in the first place. I sure as hell don't appreciate your making this any more difficult than it needs to be."

"Then let me help you, Captain." T'Pol said. "I will explain the situation to you, as it seems it is you that does not understand it."

West drew back a little at that. Both slightly amused and mildly surprised.

"By all means." He said. "If you think you understand the situation better than I do, then I guess I need to be educated."

T'Pol nodded.

"Very well." She said. "First, I am an agent of Vulcan Intelligence. I have a long and distinguished record in that regard. This includes many classified joint missions with Starfleet Intelligence, as well as a variety of other Human intelligence agencies. Many of whom I am not even at liberty to name."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It is relevant." She assured. "As I'm sure Admiral Coleman's orders assigning me to the _Tempest _weeks ago have since come to the attention of his superiors. And that they are currently monitoring his actions in regards to the _Tempest _and myself in order to assure themselves that it is handled to their satisfaction.

"Because, Captain, many of those joint missions I spoke of benefited both Starfleet and Earth interests directly. In ways that cannot and will not be made public. So they can be expected to oversee any official adjudication in which I am involved.

"Secondly, while I am sure you and the other commanding officers of the vessels in your task force were given orders to pursue, interdict and apprehend the senior staff of the _Tempest_…in the process of interdicting the Romulan fleet yourself, I presume…the fact that we successfully destroyed almost the entire Romulan main fleet single-handedly before you arrived has likewise come to their attention. Just as the public reaction to that fact when it inevitably comes to light has already been considered and the appropriate official position on the issue has already been determined."

Captain West spread his hands out from his side, to suggest…

"Yeah, so what? What's your point?"

"My point would be that you should prepare yourself to have this uncomfortable matter, which you indicate you do not appreciate, resolved to your satisfaction very soon."

"And how's that?" West asked, pointedly. "Not by your answering questions, apparently."

"If you have submitted your report to Admiral Coleman and Defense Command any time earlier than thirty minutes ago, then you can expect to receive a reply directly from Admiral Coleman himself, with the ranking ambassador of the Vulcan embassy on Proxima participating.

"Admiral Coleman will congratulate you on your successes so far and will reference an official recognition of your actions, most likely a well deserved certificate of achievement to be included in your service jacket. Perhaps a medal will be awarded. Then you will be instructed to request an official report of this incident from me and to accept whatever report I offer, forwarding that directly to Defense Command and the Admiral himself. Without reviewing it yourself, as it will be sealed.

"Following this the Admiral will ask to speak to me directly. After that conversation you will either be instructed to comply with any and all reasonable requests that I may have…or have your foresight in already doing so acknowledged and approved. And you will find yourself no longer in the uncomfortable position you do not appreciate, because you will have been removed from it entirely."

Captain West just stared at her, still frowning.

"And you really think that's how this is going to go, Commander?" He asked.

"I do." She said. "I have been in this situation many times before, Captain."

"I doubt you've been in any situation remotely like this."

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow at that, tilting her head slightly.

"Then I suppose we will see." She said. "In the meantime, if you are prepared to grant access to a secured, private communication with Captain Tucker, then I am ready to speak with him immediately."

"I think I'm prepared to just let you cool your heels down in the brig, Commander."

"Very well, if you would rather…"

The intercom chirped.

"_Bridge to the Captain."_

West frowned a little more.

And he visibly hesitated, still staring at her, before he moved to answer. Approaching the intercom and thumbing the button.

"Captain, go ahead Becker."

"_Priority transmission from Defense Command, Proxima. Admiral Coleman and Ambassador Sevek. Want me to put it through there, Captain?"_

It went precisely as expected. And T'Pol got a chance to wash up a bit after that. Even visiting the Mess Hall to eat something, without a security escort.

And she was able to enjoy Subaltern T'Lea's quiet company in doing so, as the _Rodger Young _had apparently having come upon she and Tanner, speeding toward Proxima, only the day before.

She went immediately to meditate and to rest for a couple of hours after that. Because the ambassador had seen instantly that she was in dire need of it. Almost before she'd even spoken to him.

Considering her behavior in the transporter room…and having the Ambassador feel compelled to actually verbalize his observation in front of others…it became obvious even to her that her need was every bit as serious as he'd indicated.

Perhaps more so.

And having eaten, meditated and rested…and having washed a bit as well…

T'Pol felt much more like her old self again. Much more rational and logical. Able to reassess many things in a new light and with a fresh perspective.

And she questioned many of her own actions and decisions over the past days. Questioned and reconsidered, finding most of what she reviewed to be entirely unacceptable.

She wrote her report, taking her time and doing so in a thorough manner. Sealing it and presented it to Captain West when she was done.

Then availed herself of the secured, private communication West had offered hours ago. After discussing her decision with T'Lea, in order to avail herself of a trustworthy third person perspective.

Contacting Captain Tucker himself immediately after.

In order to begin the process of rectifying a potentially grave error in judgment.

* * *

><p>Trip considered the PADD Jon had given him.<p>

All the names he wanted to be on that list were not on that list.

Song and Crowley obviously were there. Steel, Benning and Crenshaw as well.

T'Pol, Andrews, Claiborne, James and Eckerd. All of them over on the _Rodger Young_. Along with T'Lea and Tanner, who he'd been surprised to hear about just an hour ago.

Over on the _Discovery_, Harrison, Roscoe, Breckinridge, Carver and Jenson were all alive and uninjured, beyond a few scrapes and bruises here and there.

But Jeffrey Downing's name wasn't on the list.

And as much as that hurt, it wasn't really unexpected. He'd been down in Engineering when that last fission missile discharge cut a path of destruction almost halfway down the length of the ship.

Sabrina Judge and Roger Million weren't there either. And he had no idea what could have happened to them. It was obvious in general, of course. With all the hull breaches and energy dispersal…but what _exactly_…

Maybe he should just go ahead and accept that one before it started driving him crazy. And he already knew it was going to wake him up cold in the middle of the night for the rest of his life.

Carl Jennings and William Hastings weren't on the list either. Major Tulok was absent as well.

And Talla Shran.

He was ashamed a little by how much more than one hurt than any of the others so far. Because it illustrated just how much he'd come to care about her. And that he'd never really expressed that to her.

And finally, Sara Hess wasn't there.

Jon hadn't mentioned that yet, though. Hadn't even brought it up. And Trip figured he could understand why. They'd get around to that eventually, but it wouldn't be today.

And, yes, that one hurt more than any of the others. For too many reasons to count.

He handed the PADD back to Jon, simply nodding.

Because, what could he say? There was nothing to be said. Nothing that wouldn't dishonor their memory with how completely and utterly insufficient it was.

Archer understood. He'd been there before, many times. So he accepted the PADD and didn't say anything either.

Neither of them said anything at all for awhile. And if Trip didn't realize it yet, Archer did. Realizing as well that Trip probably didn't and wouldn't for some while.

He'd just joined the ranks. And maybe he'd even done that already, back at the belt in Centauri.

The ranks of the grizzled old starship captains who sat around in the Officer's Club not saying anything to each other. Just sitting around with one another comfortably not saying much at all. Keeping company for a little while with that small fraction of humanity they could still really identify with anymore.

Men who'd shook hands with Death and paid the price for taking him with them to visit the enemy. Paid by having to stand there and watch Death turn right around to take their comrades as well. People who'd trusted them enough to go along for the ride and take that risk.

They stood together in the Captain's ready room on the _Enterprise_.

Not saying anything and not feeling the need to. It was there in the room with them and that was more than enough.

That long moment of cold comfort and shared familiarity served a purpose, even if neither of them fully understood it. But it passed eventually, even as it promised to return again. And yet again.

It was Trip that took a deep breath and broke the silence.

"So. Coleman." He said. "What'd you say to convince him to let you do this?"

Archer smirked at that.

"There wasn't any convincing, Trip." He said. "I just told him I was going and pointed out it'd be a good idea to send backup if he expected me to come back."

Trip shook his head, chuckling.

"And he sent _everything? _I can't believe he did that."

"What else was he going to do?" Archer pointed out. "If the situation out here was bad enough that you and I couldn't get out of it, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. If we were already out here hitting the fleet, then his best bet was to send everything he could to help. Try to hold it off for as long as possible. Get that confirmation and at least buy the people planetside time to bunker up."

"Well, I'd have told him that if I thought he'd listen." Trip said, shaking his head.

Archer shrugged. And smirked again.

"I guess I'm going to have to give you some pointers on how to deal with the admiralty, Trip. You have to hold their feet to the fire sometimes."

"I'll buy the drinks and bring a PADD." Trip grinned.

"Oh, and by the way. You're under arrest, in case I forgot to mention it."

"Yeah, I got it the first time."

"No, that's for the PADD. Pointer number two. If you give them more than one reason to do something they don't want to do, they're more likely to just give up and do it. Three or four's usually the best. That's enough to make most of them just throw up their hands and go along with it. They don't usually have the time to spare for arguing that much."

"So what were reasons three and four then?"

"Well, it turns out I just needed that one. I get the distinct impression Coleman doesn't like you very much, Trip."

"Yeah, I might have heard a rumor about that."

They spent a few seconds comfortably chuckling over that.

And Jon really missed it. Hadn't really realized how much until then. How much he'd missed just hanging around shooting the breeze with Trip.

He looked over at him, as he stood next to him, just smiling and enjoying his company. And he thought about bringing up that certain subject then.

He didn't want to. Really, _really _didn't want to. But it'd been between them for so damned long and had somehow slowly snowballed over the years into such a massive, insurmountable…_thing_…that it just…_had _to…

Trip surprised him, though.

Because he was suddenly up and off again, pacing the room. Doing that thing he'd been doing off and on since they got here.

Just pacing the room, frowning. Watching the screen on the desk.

Jon almost rolled his eyes.

"Trip, she's fine." He said. "What are you so worried about? She's Vulcan. They have to meditate every once in a while. Most of them meditate every day."

Trip paused in his pacing a bit, still frowning at the screen though. But he at least glanced his way once before going back on the prowl.

"Yeah." He said, begrudgingly. "T'Pol meditates every day. And I guess it's been a while."

"It's kind of big deal with them, Trip. You should have seen our last advisor. Twice a day, for three hours. That's probably why we liked him so much. We didn't have to put up with him very often."

Trip spared him a snort and smirk at that. But that was all.

Back on the prowl.

Archer suddenly…recognized that.

And he pulled back a bit, reassessing things here.

He'd seen Trip do this before…

He had to chew on that a bit before he worked up the nerve to _say _something, though, but…yes, he'd seen this before.

"I guess you got along better with _your _Vulcan advisor than we did with any of ours." He said.

That seemed like a nice, very subtle and non-threatening lead in here…

Or not.

Because Trip stiffened right up at that. Even giving him a suspicious little once over on the sly. Before glancing around to find something else to look at and pretend to be interested in.

"Yeah, she helped out a lot." He said, giving the illustrations on the wall a good going over. All the various '_Enterprises' _throughout history. The ones he'd seen a thousand times before and that hadn't changed a bit in the intervening years.

Not even pacing anymore.

Archer nodded. Sure, of course.

Right.

"I think I'm a little jealous." Archer said, making sure to put a nice smirk and grin in there. "All of ours were just a pain in the ass. And none of them as easy on the eyes."

Trip smirked back at him, at least.

"Sokar." He said, smirking.

Archer winced appreciatively.

"Ugh. Don't remind me." He said. "I never met a guy who knew more about deep space astronomy, but I didn't think Vulcans came that ugly. Is _that _why you shot him?"

"Okay." Trip objected immediately. Arms thrown out for emphasis. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are yah?"

Archer chuckled. Because, no. He was never going to let him live that down.

Trip grinned at that…and went right back to pacing. Back on the prowl again.

And back to frowning at the screen some more.

"She'll call any minute, Trip." Archer said. "And she'll be just fine."

"God, I hope so." Trip said, worriedly. "I don't know what I'd…"

And, bang. He slammed on the brakes.

Because, yeah. Gotcha.

Trip…snuck a not-so-subtle glance over.

And Archer just looked back at him. With that look.

Trip deflated instantly.

"Okay, it's not like that."

"Uh huh."

"It's just…we all kinda…it was bad situation, Jon!"

Archer rushed to be understanding. Before he could get _really _defensive.

"Of course, Trip." He said, mollifying. "People tend to get close in situations like that. More than they would otherwise…"

"Well, right." Trip said, nodding. "Yeah. That happens all the time."

Archer nodded right back. "Doesn't mean a thing. And once you get _out _of the situation…when you have time think about things, put things in perspective again…"

He left it hanging there.

And Trip…didn't pick it up.

His shoulders slumped a bit instead.

"Well." He said, reluctantly. "It might actually be a little more…serious than that."

"How serious?" Archer asked, a little surprised.

Trip hesitated again.

"Pretty serious."

That set him to blinking a bit. Because…that wasn't at all what he expected.

"Trip…" He said, concerned now. "You know she's _Vulcan_."

Trip shrugged broadly. Because, _obviously_.

"Well, of course I know she's Vulcan! What's that got to do with…?"

The intercom chirped.

"_Bridge to the Captain."_

The intercom was right there. So Archer didn't waste any time answering. Especially considering how Trip suddenly looked like he might start vibrating and _explode _if he didn't do so _immediately_.

He hit the button.

"Go ahead, Hoshi."

"_Got a call from the Rodger Young. Commander T'Pol, for Trip. Want me to put it through?"_

"Put it through to my desk, thanks."

She did.

And Archer flipped the screen around for him. Reaching right over to do that before moving across the room and letting him at it.

Moving a little generally towards the door, since he expected there'd be some indication it'd be polite for him to find somewhere else to be for a while.

That…never actually happened, though.

And he suddenly had to wonder if this was the same T'Pol that almost conversation they'd had just now had been half about.

She didn't act like any sort of 'pretty serious'. She acted like someone giving the Captain a general update on the crew. Going over the situation and keeping him up on things.

Pretty smoothly brushing right over any of the 'pretty serious' coming from Trip's side of the conversation.

Yes, she was in good health. The wound was superficial. It was agreeable to see him again as well. Now, back to that matter completely unrelated to anything that wasn't official business…

The conversation didn't last all that long, even if Archer had to admit that was an impressively concise update Trip just got. He wished _his _people were that good at relaying that much information in that short a time.

But when the conversation was over, Archer was even more concerned. Because he could see Trip was stunned and confused.

And he'd seen that before, too.

Not surprising, though. It's usually what happened after the prowling and frowning thing.

So he watched him sit there for a second, trying to figure out what just happened and why. Like he'd done about a half dozen times before over the years. Admittedly, not in a really long time, but nonetheless.

Archer made his way over to the desk, already feeling pretty bad for his friend. Tugged open the third drawer down and fetched out the bottle of bourbon. Snagged the free chair from the other side of the room and pulled it up.

And went to work.


	62. Chapter 62

**Celestial Station  
><strong>**Proxima Orbit**

Trip had been hurt and confused at first. But what was going on here…it didn't take him long to figure that out. To see it and accept it.

He'd been there before, after all. More times than he'd be comfortable admitting, to be perfectly honest.

He sort of had a way with women. Just a general easy sense of self confidence and a little southern charm. And he was deceptively brilliant, intuitively insightful and adapted easily to everything that came from that. And he was fairly good looking on top of it all.

But he had a bad habit of not really thinking things through when he ran into someone he liked. Someone he found attractive. He tended to just go with the flow there…

That's all it was, really. And that's all it really took.

And since he liked the beautiful, brainy types…at least usually…and there weren't all that many of them around…that meant about every couple of years he'd meet one, let himself be drawn right to her, turn on the charm…and they'd end up in the sack somewhere around date number two. Maybe three at most.

Date one or even 0.5 a couple of times.

Then the brainy part would kick in. And whoever he'd literally charmed the pants off of, however unintentionally, would wake up in the morning with her hair in a mess and start thinking…

Usually deciding pretty quick that maybe that hadn't been such a great idea. Because they were smart and capable and able to see right off that the two of them weren't exactly a compatible match. Which was the case much more often than not because they'd skipped the part about dating for a solid few weeks to determine that compatibility before jumping right in the sack.

In a couple of cases they didn't care if they were compatible. A relationship consisting entirely of sack-time was perfectly fine with them. But that wasn't Trip's thing. He wanted the real deal and always had. He just tended to approach the matter in almost perfectly the wrong way. So those two relationships hadn't lasted long very long either and even ended pretty painfully. At least for him.

In most cases, though…pretty much this. He'd just go with the flow, taking it as it came and not thinking ahead all that much.

Then there would be the comm call.

Kinda like this right here.

So he'd been here before. And he was almost used to it, despite it being many a long, dry year since the last time he'd let this happen.

But he worked through all the stages of grieving that the abruptly terminated relationship required. Jon and a couple of stiff shots of bourbon helping out with that.

Because Jon had been with him through that a time or two before.

So by the time he got the second call two days later and received the same very professional report and exchange of information…well, yeah, he was still a little bitter about it all. But only so much.

And he still really liked T'Pol. So he just stepped back and let it be what it was.

They exchanged information, caught up with one another. Relayed messages between various crewmen and shared some insights on the coming situation.

Trip finding himself especially grateful for her advice on handling the _other _crewmen. The vast majority of the _Tempest _crewmen who they'd rather rudely abandoned to the _Enterprise _a while back. Because they were all around him now and rather displeased with not only being abandoned like that but with the _Tempest _being lost while they hadn't been there to do anything about it.

She wasn't as cold as she'd seemed before. Having stepped back a bit and able to see things somewhat objectively, he was able to catch on to that. And he could see she hadn't exactly severed all ties or anything. She'd just stepped back herself. Way, _way _back. To something just this side of a mutually respectful working relationship.

She was even a little emotionally expressive, since they were actually talking in private the second time. A little quirk of the eyebrow here and there, a twitch at the corners of the mouth. Eyes softening or hardening or generally conveying this or that during the course of the conversation.

She even called him Trip a couple of times.

So he eventually caught on to what was going on. And it wasn't all _that _different from what he was used to.

That one, single almost running leap right over the line in the _Vahklas _brig cell aside…their relationship _had _progressed pretty quick even by Human standards. They'd really only known each other a couple of weeks or so after all. And yet the subject of marriage, or at least some hybrid equivalent of it, had not only been broached but largely affirmed.

Yeah…that would constitute moving a little fast. Even by Human standards.

By _Vulcan _standards, though…

She might as well have jumped in the sack with him on the first date, proclaimed her eternal love and started naming their children.

Or maybe jumped in the back seat on the _way _to the first date and done that.

On the floor in the door when he'd come to pick her up…

Ah, hell. She'd practically, by Vulcan standards, jumped him on the street before she even knew his name. Done the nasty right then and there in front of God and everybody and jammed a wedding ring on his finger somewhere in the middle of the naked pretzel.

So he sat and thought about that after that call ended. Sat and squinted at the screen a bit, giving it some real, serious and deeply analytical thought.

Then he finally got up and went to do what he'd meant to do for a long time now.

He started cracking the books, so to speak. Hit the database and started compiling every bit of information he could dig up on any and all related subjects relevant to that one most compelling subject.

The subject of T'Pol.

By the time he got that third call on the sixth day, he knew a lot of things he hadn't known before. Like what exactly bonding entailed. And all the ins and outs of the _t'hy'la _relationship. The _pon'farr _thing and how Vulcan only had about five different types of relationship. With a very stark contrast between just about all of them and precisely, exactly no middle ground between any of them whatsoever.

_Skann, k'hat'n'dlawa, t'hai'lu, katravahsu, ri-fainusu._

Family, bondmates, friends, associates and strangers. That was it. Period.

Wanted to have a friendly working relationship with a Vulcan, go out for beers after work and be pals?

Well, tough. They don't do that. They weren't even capable of it. You were either plain vanilla coworkers or lifelong best friends with a deep and abiding connection at the very soul.

Casual sex?

Casual _what?_

No, you were either best, lifelong friends with a deep and abiding, utterly and perfectly _platonic _connection at the very soul…or you were married, forever, with no possibility nor inclination to ever divorce. With an iron-clad psychic bond in place making sure of that. And you'd better hold onto your saddle every seven years, too.

But the most relevant point here, though…

Vulcans didn't date.

They sort of courted instead. For a whole year, twenty-four seven. And even that didn't usually take.

And when it _did _take…that typically meant leaping straight from the vanilla 'associate' relationship right to the 'bondmate' position. With practically nothing in between the two.

Turning around one day and realizing your _t'hy'la _might actually be able to jump to that position with a little luck…that was a pretty rare and terrifyingly wonderful thing.

To have that and realize suddenly that you might just have completely blown the whole deal because you jumped him in the middle of the street, in front of God and everybody and jammed a wedding ring on his finger somewhere in the middle of the naked pretzel…

He was pretty impressed by then.

He had to admit, if he'd been her and he'd had the chance to take a good, objective look at how things had gone between them since they'd met…he might well have freaked completely and ended up jumping out an airlock or something.

She was pretty damned tough.

Seriously. He really was impressed.

So when he got that third call during the second week, he was better prepared. And this time…he thought things through. Took it seriously. Thought _ahead_.

Because, no.

And damn it, no.

He wasn't going to screw it up this time. Not _this _time.

Not with her.

* * *

><p>The task force hit the border of the Alpha Centauri system just shy of two weeks after the destruction of the <em>Tempest<em>. Dropping to warp three once they hit the border, falling in with the nearly hundred strong convoy of UES vessels waiting to escort them to Proxima. Traversing the span of the dual star system to arrive at Celestial Station in roughly twenty-two minutes.

Forty seven minutes to following docking protocols, line up to dock and eventually dock with the station.

The _Rodger Young _was second in line behind the _Enterprise_, so T'Pol knew he'd be there when she stepped off the ship.

Whether he'd be there waiting to greet her or whether he'd simply be present somewhere on the station remained to be seen. Either would be sufficient.

They'd spoken a total of five times on the journey back to Proxima. The first being the most critical, as she'd put considerable amount of effort into balancing many factors during the course of the conversation.

Giving him two days to adjust to the situation, he'd proven surprisingly accepting, even highly adaptable, by the time they spoke again.

That was very encouraging. She'd expected an emotional outburst at worst. An attempt to manipulate her emotionally at best. Yet by the second conversation he was already accepting.

Still pushing carefully and patiently at the boundaries she'd laid, but not too much and easily accepting when she allowed those boundaries to shift only a little. Or even when not at all.

Overall she found herself entirely comfortable with the relationship presently. And his ability to accept and adapt was very encouraging.

So she was ready to proceed.

To work through whatever challenges awaited them on Celestial Station and take what opportunity they could to discuss the issue of bonding. What it was, what it entailed and how it was pursued.

Most importantly, the nature of it. So that he would understand fully before agreeing or disagreeing. Accepting or rejecting. Doing so rationally and logically, rather than emotionally.

It was a profound matter. And she would not allow the risk of her Human _t'hy'la _agreeing to things he did not fully understand. Certainly not doing so motivated by emotion, which would inevitably change over time.

If they were successful, there would be no going back. So his decision must be based on logic. Because logic did not change. So the highly emotional nature of their relationship so far had to be eliminated, to exactly the full extent that that was possible.

She stood with the rest of the crew at the airlock. James, Eckerd and T'Lea. Andrews, Tanner and Claiborne. And they stood somewhat apart from the crew of the _Rodger Young_, much as they had throughout the journey. Sharing meals together as they had, spending free time together almost exclusively. Working alongside one another, even in aiding the crew of the _Rodger Young _in their duties.

Associates, as it should be.

The time came and the airlock eventually cycled. And they were somewhat surprised to find the crew of the ship standing aside to allow them to disembark first.

So they did. Walking almost directly into the fanfare, noise and general uproar that none of them had expected to walk into.

The reception area was crowded and noisy. Throngs of people were firmly separated from the debarkation line by barricades to either side. There were armed station security personnel in attendance practically everywhere.

And news reporters shouting questions at them before they'd even fully departed the ship.

T'Pol wasn't sure what exactly was going on at first. She spent the first second or two pausing alongside T'Lea to sharply examine their surroundings in order to determine what had happened to provoke such a large scale emotional outburst.

In case the security personnel in attendance required their aid in quelling the disturbance.

And finally realizing _they _were the disturbance.

Celestial Station thankfully had stewards available to meet them at the airlock, ushering them forward and offering them both the opportunity and the readily available excuse not to suffer the situation unnecessarily.

They took it gladly, allowing themselves to be escorted quickly through the crowd to either side, on down the debarkation line and into the secured room beyond.

Where they were finally able to collect themselves and adjust to the situation.

The _Enterprise _had been granted the privilege of docking before they had. So Commander Benning was there waiting for them, as were Lieutenants Steel and Crenshaw.

Captain Archer wasn't there. Nor was Commander Song.

And Captain Tucker wasn't there.

* * *

><p>Jon had a whole two weeks to coach him on what to expect and what to do here. That had been plenty of time. They'd even caught up on a few other things while they were at it.<p>

Had a couple of fights, specifically. About certain issues they were both still a little uptight about.

But they'd settled those. Because Jon had suddenly, right in the middle of a shouting match, flat out said that if he had the chance to go back and do things differently…that he'd do things differently.

That had floored Trip. Because it forced him to finally comprehend just how unyielding he'd been on the issue all this time. To see Jon actually give ground…and so _much _ground…rather illustrated just how much he'd been demanding from the man all this time.

And seeing Jon actually _do _that…it was pretty profoundly humbling.

That had ended all the fighting right off. Because Trip wasn't prepared to disagree with Jon on much of anything after that. He felt like he'd sorta been put in his place instead.

They spent a lot of time together during those two weeks then. With no small part of that preparing for this day.

Enough that Trip was almost bored through most of it.

Song was there, standing beside him. And she said and did as little as she possibly could throughout the proceedings. Her job being just to stand beside her Captain, supporting and agreeing to whatever he said. Willing to suffer whatever fate that brought upon her.

Archer stood to the other side, doing much the same. A clear signal of his support and his willingness to be a pain in the Admiralty's ass if he wasn't satisfied here himself.

Ambassador Sevek was there with a small gang of unidentified Vulcans. Standing and observing, participating not at all. Except for one short interjection near the end.

T'Pol and T'Lea arrived before things really heated up. Coming to stand with the Ambassador, quietly conferring with him for a short moment before soon enough standing with him and passively observing.

She was beautiful. Heart-stoppingly, mind numbingly beautiful. Probably because he hadn't actually seen her in person for two weeks. But, still.

And she looked over at him once, calm and collected.

Nodding precisely to him before returning her attention to the discussion going on.

Which could have meant any damned thing and kinda irritated him a bit. So, damn. Thanks a lot, T'Pol.

On the view screen dominating the room in such an intimidating manner...it took the Fleet Admiral and his gang of Vice Admirals nearly an hour to get past the first part of the thing Jon had warned him about. The part where they beat their chests and leveled every imaginable threat his way. To put him firmly in his place and humble him before the might and majesty of the collective Starfleet authority.

Trip nodded stoically through it all, shoulders squared and eyes front.

Yes, sir. No, sir. Absolutely, sir. Understood, sir.

Not cowed, not humbled. Because they would have rolled right over him and backed up a few times to be sure he was roadkill.

Professional and disciplined. Acknowledging the authority of superior officers and his duty to do exactly and precisely as he was told. Including understanding everything said to him and recognizing whether he agreed with it or not was completely and totally irrelevant.

Then phase two began, where they began to share with him a more detailed understanding of the grievously difficult and precarious position he'd put them all in. The admiralty itself, Starfleet in general…

Earth…Humanity as a whole…

The entire coalition and all its signatories…

The coming infinite progression of proceeding generations from all of the above…

He'd pretty much jacked up the whole universe, apparently. Which required all manner of Herculean efforts and undertakings just to minimize the damage done here. Forget about making any good come out of all this.

All to ensure he was suitably humbled and prepared to agree to anything and everything demanded of him in order to show his remorse and willingness to atone for the terrible thing he'd done.

Then the negotiation phase finally began.

And there Trip squared his shoulders and started drawing the line. Asserting himself and making demands. Respectfully at all times and on all points…but firmly nonetheless.

Accepting begrudging concessions, making concessions of his own, jockeying for position, flat out threatening a few times here and there…

It took about three hours altogether. But he did pretty well for himself. Because, despite all the arguing, browbeating and verbal jousting…it was all pretty much a forgone conclusion anyway. Nothing much occurred that hadn't already been decided before he even stepped in front of the view screen.

No one would be charged with anything. Starfleet would put on a good show for the press, outraged at first over what had occurred. Eventually sitting back and thinking it through once the public got squarely behind him and his crew. Finally conceding that, while they could not in any way approve of what had been done, it would be counterproductive to prosecute any of them under the Uniform Code of Justice.

Song and Benning would be given their choice of assignments which Starfleet could then pretend to force on them, in order to ensure they were properly chastised and kept in line.

The rest of his crew treated like heroes, despite the illegal actions of their commanders. Medals awarded, citations given. Promotions, choice of assignment, etc. It'd be their faces on the front page and their actions exalted before the public.

Captain Tucker himself would be stripped of his command, which had died with the _Tempest _anyway, and he would quietly be put back to doing what he did best. That particular point being established firmly.

Mostly because T'Pol spoke quietly with the Vulcan Ambassador while that was being addressed. And the Vulcan Ambassador interrupted the proceedings immediately thereafter, asking that it be stated clearly whether Captain Tucker would be discharged from Starfleet again. Because Vulcan High Command was interested in employing him the day after that happened, so that he could would work with Vulcan Space Command in developing defenses against nuclear pumped x-ray laser systems…

The Fleet Admiral was quick to make that point clear then. No, Captain Tucker would not be discharged and yes, Vulcan High Command would just have to work with Starfleet in order to avail themselves of his expertise in that or any other area.

And that was finally that.

The formalities, unique as they might historically be to organizations such as Starfleet, were officially concluded.

And before they logged off and went back to their majestic duties, the Fleet Admiral spared a gracious moment of his immeasurably invaluable time…and thanked him.

Without actually saying anything that could literally be interpreted that way. But nevertheless.

* * *

><p>Coleman was waiting for him outside.<p>

So while Song let out the breath she'd been holding for the last three hours and Archer laughed off his anxiety with her…Trip went to present himself there.

Coleman gave him a thorough once over before he spoke.

"Not quite what I had in _mind_, Captain." He said, frowning.

Trip nodded.

"Yes, sir." He said.

Coleman nodded at that. Because that was the proper response here.

"Good work, Tucker."

And Trip nodded again.

"Yes, sir."

And Coleman left. Off to do what Admirals do.

So Trip could finally let out the breath _he'd _been holding until then. Because the last of the dragons had been confronted and pacified.

T'Pol was there, along with T'Lea. Maybe a dozen meters down the main corridor, standing with two other Vulcans from among the Ambassador's entourage.

She didn't meet his eye or acknowledge him in any way, devoting herself to whatever conversation was taking place over there.

And he was tempted to wait and watch, in case she might.

But he didn't. He turned back to Song and Archer, to grin and share his relief and general satisfaction with how well it all had gone. Thanking Archer profusely for his insights and support. Song as well, and particularly, for daring to brave the dragons with him.

They talked for a while and most of the senior officers arrived soon after to join them. They all took the opportunity to catch up and compare notes, until everyone was up to speed and they'd all shared how they felt about it all.

Took nearly an hour. And Trip had finally grown tired of waiting for T'Pol to come to him.

So he accepted that, though that would have been better, it wasn't apparently going to happen.

And it concerned him quite a lot. Because it suggested…maybe he was wrong.

Maybe she really was comfortable with how things were now. Otherwise she _would _have come to him.

_T'hy'la _then. That and nothing more.

He'd been prepared for that, seeing the wisdom in not taking _anything _for granted just now. Didn't really prefer that outcome and had hoped otherwise…

But if that's how it had to be…

Well, that was fine. He could live with that.

So he went to find her. To find her and settle the matter once and for all. Not with any kind of confrontation or anything, but just to talk and let the issue present itself and be settled clearly.

T'Lea and some woman from the Ambassador's entourage were waiting outside the door. And they greeted him politely when he arrived.

T'Lea suggesting that it might be more appropriate to wait until T'Pol emerged from the room to speak to her, rather than enter the room unannounced.

But Trip wasn't concerned. And he entered the room anyway, because he was a little tired of waiting around here…

T'Pol was in the room alone with some Vulcan guy.

And the guy was touching her face.

So Trip stared at that, despite himself. Long enough for that to stop happening and for T'Pol to notice he was standing there.

Realizing then that this really wasn't somewhere he wanted to be just then. And that T'Lea might have had some good advice after all.

Taking a moment to remind himself that he wasn't supposed to be taking anything for granted here, before turning right back around to wait for T'Pol out in the hall.

* * *

><p>T'Pol understood instantly what had happened.<p>

What Trip had seen, entirely how impossible it was for him to understand what he'd seen and exactly what he must have assumed he'd seen.

The fact that he simply stared for a moment, politely acknowledged that he'd intruded inappropriately by nodding shortly to her when she realized he was there…and left the room without saying or doing anything else at all…

That was very discouraging.

Because it established firmly that he was perfectly comfortable with their relationship as it was.

He would otherwise have at least objected. Questioned, demanded, suffered an emotional outburst.

Threatening or even physically assaulting the Intelligence agent she conferred with would not have been unexpected. He was Human, after all.

But he simply nodded and left the room.

So the outcome here that she would not have preferred most had apparently come to pass. He too had reexamined their relationship and the dangerously hasty progression of it, realizing it to be the result of the highly stressful and dangerous conditions it had enjoyed…

And decided not to pursue further.

That was very unfortunate.

But she was not unprepared to accept this. It had been perfectly logical from the beginning that it would be best not to take anything for granted here. And so she had not.

She completed her conference with the agent and left the room once that was done. And he was there, waiting for her. To engage her in discussion and allow the issue at hand to present itself, so that it could be clearly understood and put to rest.

He spoke as she approached. Expressing his discomfort with what he must have recognized as an inappropriate intrusion on her privacy.

"That looked pretty intimate." He said.

And perhaps there was some bitterness there, but it was mild and easily understandable. So she allowed that to pass.

Considering how best to respond here.

She placed her hands comfortably at her back and considered that for a moment. Then responded.

"A prostate exam may also appear intimate to someone unfamiliar with it." She said. "And in the strictest sense of the term, I suppose it would be."

He looked at her with some amusement. And that at least was good.

"Vulcans have prostate exams?" He asked, almost grinning.

"Vulcans have prostates." She pointed out. "They occasionally require examination."

"Just the guys right?" Trip asked, suddenly concerned.

"Technically, yes. But only because the female prostate rarely if ever requires examination in that manner."

Trip squinted at her. Then turned his eyes to the ceiling, considering that.

"Wait a minute." He muttered to her. "Trying to remember biology classes back…"

Then he blinked.

"Oh. Right." He said. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't want some guy poking at that."

"Typically, no." She said. "With rare, specific exception."

He smirked immediately.

"Well, sure." He said. Suggestively.

And proceeded quickly, before she could determine how best to respond to _that_.

"So that was just a big, facial prostate exam." He said, flatly. "Not to get in your business. Just curious."

T'Pol hesitated.

"Perhaps…not the best analogy." She admitted.

Trip thought that over.

"Then I guess I'm sorry I walked in on that." He decided. "Must have been embarrassing."

"I do not experience that emotion, of course."

He nodded easily.

"Of course."

"But if I did…I would not have been embarrassed that you witnessed it. I would likely be comforted that it was you, rather than a stranger or associate. If I experienced comfort in such a situation."

It was a bold move, of course. Perhaps too bold.

But she had come here to settle accounts. And to have this issue firmly established, so that she would know how best to proceed from here.

Trip was quiet for a moment.

"Okay, two things." He said, finally. "And I'm sorry I've got ask you about _private _things. But, first…that was a mind meld, right?"

"It was, yes."

"So you were just…talking. Sort of."

That, of course, was not at all accurate but…

"Essentially, but that would not be otherwise be accurate." She said. "He is an associate, an agent of Vulcan Intelligence. High Command requires concrete information on certain issues, so it was logical."

"Okay." Trip nodded.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Captain," She reminded him. "You specified _two _things…"

"Right." He nodded. "So if I'm not a stranger or an associate…that means we're still _t'hy'la_."

"If you prefer." She agreed.

"I do. But do you?"

"Certainly."

"Okay, good." He said. "Just…wanted to be clear on that. Kinda got a little confused about some things, T'Pol."

"That is understandable." She said. "But I intended to clarify this matter with you at the first opportunity."

"Well, I appreciate that."

They were quiet for a time. And it was good to share that moment of reflection with him.

Even if the resolution they'd agreed upon was not the most preferred…

She spoke then. An aberrant thing, having not precisely _decided _to speak. Not having examined what she was about to say, to insure it was reasonable, rational and logical before verbalizing it. Rather the impulse occurred and she voiced it before she could fully do that…

"Are you certain that…?"

"You sure you want to…?"

They shared a look of surprise. Both having spoken, at the same moment.

Both apparently falling prey to impulse.

That was mildly alarming.

"Excuse me. Continue…"

"Sorry, go ahead…"

Another look.

"I thought perhaps…"

"I was just thinking…"

She gave him an eyebrow, to communicate her curiosity at this phenomenon. And to suggest that she would find it irritating, if she were prone to experiencing irritation.

Trip accomplished much the same communication. By huffing irritably.

So she spoke to that.

"Captain, I find…"

"Look, this is…"

Trip spoke quickly, before it could happen again.

"Okay, that's getting ridiculous." He frowned.

"I agree." She said, quickly. "You should speak first, Captain."

"No, ladies first. You go ahead."

She paused.

And hesitated.

Because she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say here. Or what she _should _say.

Finding herself in the unusual position of regretting having stifled an impulse. Because that impulse apparently knew what she wanted to say, where as she did not.

So she suddenly decided to allow that impulse to express itself.

"Trip, I think it…"

"T'Pol, I just don't…"

She spoke again, quickly. While she still had the chance.

"I would rather attempt a bond." She said.

And she stiffened at herself.

And she waited, in order to assess the inevitable fallout of that entirely unproductive impulse…

Trip let out a breath.

"Oh, thank God. So why aren't we doing that?"

"I…thought it best if…" She stumbled. "You are unaware of the particular…"

"Well, I had two whole weeks to read up on it." He frowned. "I get it. It's not that bad. What are you so scared of?"

"I am not scared of anything." She denied. "I am concerned for you. I do not want you to find yourself trapped in a bond that you are not fully aware…"

"I told you I read about it." He frowned. "How's it any different from getting married? Heck, you're just talking about getting _engaged_. For a whole year, even."

"It is entirely different…"

"Well, sure. But it's basically the same thing. You want to date and see if we're compatible…you're talking about _courting_, really. That's sounds great. Let's do that."

"We…would have to live together for an entire year."

Trip stared.

"Wow." He said, flatly. "Sounds terrible."

T'Pol was tempted to frown. Because this was not a humorous matter.

"If a bond formed, it would be permanent."

"Yeah, God forbid we get married and _not _get divorced some day. That'd be tragic."

"Trip, I think you are not taking this matter seriously enough…"

"T'Pol, why don't you just shut up and do it. We both know that's what we're gonna do."

"Trip…"

"Just say yes."

"Trip, you have to…"

"We had a deal, remember?"

"That was…"

"I get us out of that alive, you marry me."

"At the time…"

"That was the deal."

"Very well."

"You can't just back out…wait, what?"

"Very well."

"Very well, what?"

"Very well. I will engage in a formal attempt to elicit a bond with you."

"Well…okay, then. Jeez, it's like pulling teeth with you."

"I take the matter seriously."


	63. Epilogue

**USS Independence  
><strong>**Aurora Class Explorer (NC-121)  
><strong>**Proxima Maintenance Yards  
><strong>_**(December 22, 2163 - 7 years later)**_

Commander T'Pol greeted the five-man Vulcan security team at the rear launch bay on Deck E. To either side, no less than four stewards waited to attend.

While the majority of the remaining crew arrived and were greeted at the hard dock connecting the ship with Ready Station Two of the Proxima Maintenance Yards complex…these particular personnel had arrived via shuttle. From the _Kohlinar_, parked just a few hundred kilometers to port, where it awaited the shuttle's return.

These men were not Starfleet officers or crewmen, after all. They were agents of Vulcan Intelligence.

And so they were only _technically _assigned to the _Independence_.

Subcommander Solek exited the shuttle ahead of his men, climbing the short ladder to stand at attention before T'Pol.

He presented the Vulcan PADD to her immediately, once his men had likewise arrived and stood at attention behind him.

"This confirms that I was formally transferred to your command at oh six hundred hours." He said, sharply. "Reporting for duty, Commander."

T'Pol accepted the PADD, reviewed the information casually and tucked it away to be processed and filed later.

"Very well." She said. "You will turn your belongings over to the stewards and attend to me."

They did. In an entirely efficient and expeditious manner. But she didn't move from the spot where she stood, to lead them anywhere in particular just yet.

She waited instead until the stewards had departed with their gear and they were left alone.

And she folded her hands comfortably at her back.

"Let us be clear, from the very beginning." She said. "I retain my position with the Vulcan Security Directorate and Vulcan Intelligence specifically. I have served in this capacity for decades and I am far more familiar with the inherent necessities of that service than all of you. Arguably more than all of you combined. So I will make one clear point here and you will of course understand and internalize that point perfectly. Because it is logical for you to do so.

"In order to serve the interests of Vulcan High Command and the Vulcan people at large…you must develop an associative relationship with the crew of this ship immediately. You are trained intelligence officers. You are prepared and able to accomplish this. And so you will.

"Otherwise I will have you expelled from the ship the very moment it becomes clear that you have failed to do so. Even if the ship is not at that moment attached to anything other than the vacuum of open space.

"Is this perfectly understood?"

There was little hesitation, of course.

"Understood, Commander." Solek said. Even nodding in the process of that, in order to fully convey his understanding.

"Very well." T'Pol said. "Follow me."

* * *

><p>She led them down the corridor. Down to the waiting lift, up two decks to the corridor there and down still more to the MACO contingent temporary quarters on Deck D.<p>

Passing many crewmen and officers along the way, either having just arrived themselves or having already been hard at work preparing the ship for its shakedown cruise.

Which prompted some measure of discussion almost immediately.

"There are several crewman present who are also non-Human." Solek observed. "That is unexpected."

And indeed, they had already passed two Andorians, a Tellarite and an Orion in this corridor alone.

"A recent development." T'Pol explained. "Otherwise your briefing for this assignment would have at least eluded to that fact. A concession we were forced to make with Starfleet in order to secure various concessions of our own."

"I question the logic of this." Solek said. "It places further relational stress on the crew, and unnecessarily so."

"True, but as the ship is already seen as a sort of testing ground for various technologies and protocols, it seemed prudent to Starfleet to test inter-species integration on a somewhat broader scale than they have before. I also question the logic of this…but as I've said, it was a necessary concession."

They arrived at the door to the MACO contingent quarters. And she turned to face them before leading them in.

"Another point, related to the one previously established." She said, eyeing them all critically. "I needn't remind you that you represent Vulcan on many different levels with your service aboard this vessel. I expect that you will represent her in your association with the crew in particular. I expect, in fact, that when the matter is finally assessed, it will be found that the Vulcan members of this ship were the _most _successful in integrating with a multi-species crew. Am I understood?"

"Understood, Commander." Solek nodded.

"I realize this increases the difficulty of your assignment overall." She acknowledged. "But it is a unique opportunity to illustrate the reliability and acceptability of the Vulcan people in general. And in the face of recent events, with our reputation suffering significantly as a result of our relationship with the Romulan people having come to light, we can afford to allow no such opportunity to pass unanswered."

"That is perfectly understood, Commander." Solek nodded. "Our briefing stressed this particular point many times. We will avail ourselves of every such opportunity presented and will do so to the best of our ability. Which can be expected to be considerable."

"We will see." T'Pol said, sternly.

And she tapped the panel, opening the door to lead them into the room.

Introducing them both individually and as a unit to Major Harris and his men once they arrived. Being sure each of the two teams were well acquainted with one another before ordering the Vulcan team to begin socializing with the MACOs.

The two units would naturally be required to work closely together in many instances. While the security team would largely focus their efforts on the security of the ship itself, and the MACOs would run escort in any and all instances _beyond _the ship…they were both charged with security and it could be expected that the two seemingly divergent fields of interest would converge and overlap quite often.

Therefore the Vulcan crewmen's development of an associative relationship with the crew should logically begin here, with the MACOs.

She stood comfortably with Major Harris, with whom she'd long since developed an associative relationship herself. And she oversaw the integration as it took place, in order to debrief the Vulcan team on their performance afterward and offer her insights and guidance at that time.

And as she stood there, watching over that…she decided that enough time had passed since her last attempt that it would be logical to take the opportunity to manage a certain relationship of her own.

One that was proving…challenging at the moment.

She opened the pathways, just those specific ones…seeking him out, finding him and allowing her presence to be perceived…

_What?_

_Subcommander Solek and his team have arrived. They are currently in the process of associating themselves with the MACO unit._

_Wonderful. _

_Have Admiral Archer and the other members of the…?_

_Just about. _

_Then we both have some measure of free attention to devote to clarifying the matter further._

* * *

><p>At the reception area of the Starboard hard dock airlock, Trip frowned.<p>

He glowered, in fact.

But he had to stop that before he could really get into it, because the airlock opened and the Admirals were suddenly there.

Trip put on his Captain face and squared his shoulders.

Archer stepped out first, though. So he suddenly found the whole damned thing a lot easier to bear.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Archer asked, smiling.

And Trip grinned back. He couldn't help it.

"Absolutely, Admiral." Trip said, grinning. "Good to have you…"

"_One moment."_

Trip stopped. And he almost sighed.

But he waited a moment. As did Archer and the other two Admirals in attendance.

For nearly three seconds, even. So that he was finally forced to give them all a shrug and an apologetic look…

"_Life sign sensor individual identification confirmed. Welcome aboard, Admiral Archer."_

"Thanks, Alice." Trip said, sarcastically.

"_It is my pleasure, Captain. And it is good to finally meet you, Admiral Archer."_

"You, too." Archer said, sparing a glance around at…wherever Alice was. "I've heard a lot about you. I hope this cruise goes a lot more smoothly than the last one."

"_I will endeavor to insure so, Admiral."_

"Okay." Trip said, breaking in. "Sorry about that. Starfleet Intel fiddled with the security protocols before I could stop them. And don't encourage her, Jon. We're still having trouble convincing her she's not the same Alice."

"_That is not possible, Captain. By every reasonable measure, I am. And so suggestions to the contrary are not rational."_

"Well, as much as I'd love to have the same argument with you again, how about we show the Admirals around the ship instead?"

"_I would enjoy that immensely, Captain."_

Trip swung out his hand, showing the admirals the way.

His _right _hand, the new and improved version.

And, yeah, he'd tinkered with it a bit over the years. He could practically crush rocks with the thing now. So he was pretty proud of it and took every opportunity to show it off.

* * *

><p>Trip led the Admirals down the corridor, heading for Engineering first.<p>

And T'Pol was considerate enough to lay off picking a damned fight just long enough for him to greet the admirals politely and start leading them in that general direction.

Picking up again the second he had the attention to spare.

She was real efficient like that.

_I believe the critical point of the disagreement is your refusal to acknowledge the decision lies entirely within the female prerogative. It is not appropriate for the male to intrude upon decisions in that area beyond general support and acceptance…_

_For Vulcans, T'Pol. I'm Human. Humans discuss these things and make the decision together._

_That is irrelevant. I am Vulcan and female. The decision falls within the Vulcan female prerogative. _

"Trip, why don't we start with the holographic interface systems?" Archer suggested, as they walked along.

Admiral Holstein piped up immediately.

"I saw the combat reports from the _Tempest_." He said. "I have to admit, I was damned impressed at the increased efficiency it suggested. You have that same setup here, is that right?"

"Yes, sir." Trip nodded. "All bridge consoles. Individual department consoles as well, all throughout the _Independence_. So you're looking at the same roughly fifteen percent jump in combat efficiency, but with maybe a twenty percent jump in general efficiency as well."

"That's damned impressive, Captain." Holstein said.

Admiral Barrett had to offer his disagreement, though.

"And all it takes is one solid hit to Operations and you lose all those fancy interfaces. Then what?"

"Unlike the _Tempest_," Trip said. "We retain traditional manual controls beneath the holographic projector panels everywhere. Just a flip of a switch and you've got a hardwired control scheme right there, if you need it."

"Two entirely different control schemes." Barrett argued. "With two entirely different protocols to go along with that. I can't say I see the wisdom in making things _more _complicated, Captain. Maybe you increase your efficiency by one measure, but overcomplicating the hell out of everything renders that void."

That set Barrett and Holstein arguing right away. Holstein thoroughly loving the idea. Barrett…not quite so comfortable with the dramatic change.

Trip and Archer just shared a look. And slight smirk.

And T'Pol jumped right in again…

_I was given the authority to negotiate the terms of your early retirement, Trip._

_Because I trusted you. I knew you'd do a better job of it than I would. So maybe you should have trusted me, too._

_I trust you implicitly. This is not a matter of trust. The offer was especially…_

_I didn't expect you'd agree to have me command the damn ship for the whole shakedown, T'Pol. Sure as hell didn't think you'd agree to that considering what's coming in just…well, hey, look at the date today…three months from now, T'Pol!_

_That is irrelevant. This represents several unique opportunities…_

_How the hell is it irrelevant?_

…_unique opportunities. The benefit bonuses that were offered following this mission will make full retirement immediately available. In addition to our already respectable savings and investments, we will be set for life, so to speak._

_Whoopty freakin' do._

_That is not a rational or logical response, Trip._

"What about the holochamber training simulator?" Archer asked, suddenly.

As much to give the two Admirals with him something else to focus on, other than butting heads about the control setup.

"Yes, what about that?" Barrett asked, suddenly interested. "Any chance we'll get to see that, Captain?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Admiral." Trip said, regretfully. "Jackson over at the Proxima Maintenance Yards decided at the last second to reroute the conduits in there. I guess somebody forgot to send me a memo on that. If you'd like to give him a little grief about it, I'd sure appreciate it. I really wanted to let you try your hand at some of the scenarios."

"Well, I think I just might." Barrett grumped. "I was looking forward to that."

* * *

><p>T'Pol led the security team to their quarters. Individual quarters, located adjacent to one another. Which she knew very well they would appreciate.<p>

And she left them there, with a final reminder that she intended to be entirely unforgiving of any possible failure.

"As a final reminder," She said. "I intend to be entirely unforgiving of any possible failure. Tread lightly and considerately. And do not expect that I will adopt any other position toward you and your unit other than aggressively dominating and disturbingly intrusive until it has been settled to my satisfaction that you have integrated fully with the ship and crew."

Subcommander Solek allowed himself a moment to fully absorb that.

"Understood, Commander." He said, very clearly.

So T'Pol nodded, spared a very Vulcan glare for the entire unit…and left them.

To head to Engineering, in the hopes of catching Trip there before he could evade her. So that she could reinforce her position on _that _issue as well. With her presence.

_Trip, my time will come and go. I have already experienced this with you. It is not a matter of significant concern._

_Okay, don't do that. Don't just gloss over the real point here…_

_Of more immediate concern would be the benefits this very short mission will make available to us. _

_I can pay the bills with a little R&D work on the side, T'Pol. We talked about that and I thought we agreed…_

_And now that will no longer be necessary. We will be able to pursue personal pursuits at our leisure. And we will be able to enjoy our relationship without distraction. _

_And that's just great. Except that in three months…_

_There is also the matter of Xyrillia. Transporting the diplomatic detail there and waiting on hand for the projected one month period allows the opportunity to…_

_It's not worth the damned risk!_

_That risk is mine to assess and accept. And I have done so._

_Without consulting me._

_That was not necessary, nor was it appropriate. _

* * *

><p>Admiral Barrett was talking.<p>

And Trip had missed half of what he said.

So he let his anger at that flow through the bond a bit. Because it might just shut her the hell up for two seconds.

"…under the impression you were developing some new variant of the old Whipple shield concept." He was saying.

"Well," Trip said, taking his chances with guessing what he'd missed. "That's where we started out."

He gestured at the three-dimensional display floating in the middle of the Engineering diagnostics room.

"We do employ that overall, in fact." He said, pointing that out. "All along the hull in the saucer section. Just a good, solid three meter spacing between the polarized armor and the internal hull itself. And it'll help cut the splash damage a bit with anything that gets through deflector shields. But we ended up going with nanofluid reinforcement instead of digging any deeper into the Whipple concept."

He tapped at the console controls, zooming in close to the internal hull. All the way in, showing a crosscut section of one portion.

"The name's a little misleading." He explained. "No actual nanotechnology involved, of course. Just a dispersive gel sandwiched between thin layers of neutronite. It concentrates almost instantly at the point of kinetic impact to add a little protection against torpedoes, missiles and even plain old solid projectile attacks. But at the same time, it disperses energy almost evenly across the matrix. That helps a lot with managing energy dispersal, which is the real trick."

"I've seen the demonstrations on that, Tucker." Admiral Holstein said. "I like it and I'm glad you dug it up to give it another look. I'm more interested in the point defense system, though. I don't think anyone's used anything like that since the old sea-battle days."

"Jamming tech's just too advanced these days." Trip admitted. "The sensor systems and counter-sensor capability just about everyone in the galaxy has available…there's usually no point in even trying. Your best bet is just to make yourself a hard target or blow the other guy up before he can shoot too many missiles at you. But with Alice running combat sensors it's a whole new ballgame. She can hit one out of five incoming Mark I IF's, fired at point blank range. Now, that may not _seem _all that impressive, but think about it for just a couple of seconds and you'll see it's sure as hell worth it."

Admiral Barrett gave him an assessing look then.

"Most of your modifications…in fact, _all _of them, seem to lean more toward the defensive, Tucker."

"Yes, sir." Trip said. "The _Independence _is an explorer, so I focused on getting her _out _of danger a lot more than…well, _being _a danger."

"Don't get me wrong, Captain." Barrett said. "I approve. It's just a little surprising, considering your reputation."

That got Archer's back up a bit. And he started butting heads with some people all of a sudden.

Which meant Trip now had the attention to spare again…

_This is a very fortunate opportunity that I have secured for us, Trip. If you would overlook the perceived negatives for a moment, I am sure you will be able to recognize that. _

_Sixty light years to Xyrillia, T'Pol. That's three months at cruising speed, warp five. _

_And one month there, Trip. That is a significant amount of time for you to avail yourself of in order to…_

_And three more months back. That's seven months, T'Pol. At least._

_Only seven._

_March of next year will come along before we get there. That's kind of a big deal._

_Approximately three days of full plak'tow. One week of pon'farr requiring active seclusion. Two weeks seclusion in totality being most preferable. The matter will be concluded before we arrive. Residual effects, easily manageable._

_And then you'll be pregnant._

"Explain the overall defensive concept here, Trip." Archer said suddenly, bringing him back into the conversation. "The design for the Aurora class itself."

"Right." Trip nodded, bringing his attention back around.

And zooming the display back out again, until the _Independence _was floating there in full view again.

"A single hull design." He said, indicating it. "Saucer section, nacelles directly attached, single solid wing support between the nacelles trailing. That gives you greater warp efficiency, maneuverability and overall speed. Not huge differences from your average cruiser, I admit. The _Enterprise _might have to push herself a bit to keep up…but she'd still manage it. But it's still a good tradeoff no matter how you look at it."

"But where's your rear mass?" Archer asked. Even if he already knew, taking the opportunity to pitch the design to the Admirals.

"Armor." Trip said, pointing the outer bulk of the nacelles. "Butted right up against the saucer like that, it brings the nacelles too close to center mass. You lose a lot of efficiency the way the field's center masses are so close to the overlap. But when you armor up the outside hull of the nacelles…then you've got your mass right back and the trailing field's center shifts back out again."

"And you don't run the risk of being stuck in a fight." Archer concluded. "It's a lot harder to take out your propulsion."

"Especially with that armor plating extended vertically up and down just a little when you go combat." Trip nodded. "Makes it harder to target your impulse systems, too. And they're already reinforced themselves."

"That plasma bleed thing." Holstein frowned. "Can't say I'm comfortable with that."

"Well, think about it." Trip argued. "With armored nacelles, added propulsion protection overall, the design itself giving that little bit of general boost to speed and maneuverability…all you really need is maybe a two or three second bleed and you're out of the fight. Disengaged and gone to warp just a couple of seconds after that. You don't have to stick around for any fight you don't want to."

The Admirals dove right into that, going over all the scenarios. Giving it a solid once over.

Leaving Trip, yet again, open to T'Pol's mind crushingly patient and methodical attempts to force him to embrace logic.

Because her position was logical. And therefore correct. So he should acknowledge that and get on board with it, rather than continuing to be an intractable Human about the whole thing.

_The medical advances allowing for reliable conception between Vulcan and Human bondmates was not available until now, Trip._

_It will be available next time._

_You are forty-two years old. You will be forty-nine years old then. We have already suffered one pon'farr fruitlessly because the opportunity was not available. It is available now._

_Forty-nine is not that old. I don't know how it is for Vulcans, but Human males are pretty much fertile right up until they kick the bucket._

_I would prefer more than two or three children, Trip._

_I can make due with two or three._

_That is not your decision to make. That is the prerogative of the female in the bondmate relationship. And regardless, in three more cycles you will be fifty-six years old._

_And still fertile, still kicking around. Probably way after our kids have all gone out and got bonded or married or whatever themselves. Life expectancies are pretty good these days, T'Pol._

_That is not my concern. You will have aged enough that it will impact your ability._

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_You will be unlikely to be able to meet my requirement then. Pon'farr is quite demanding, as you recall._

…

_Trip?_

* * *

><p>At the starboard hard dock the admirals prepared to wrap up their review.<p>

"Captain, I appreciate you taking the time to show us around." Barrett said. "I can't say I find everything you've developed quite to my liking…but I'm interested to see how it all shakes out. I'll be submitting my report to the Joint Oversight Committee immediately. It won't be as unfavorable as I expected it would."

"Good to hear, sir." Trip nodded. "I appreciate your taking the time to tour the ship."

He shook their hands.

Everyone nodded.

They departed.

Leaving Trip with Admiral Archer, in the reception area, as the airlock door closed.

Trip slumped right away.

"Sheesh." He said. "Does that ever stop being such a huge pain in the butt?"

Archer chuckled.

"Not even the hundredth time." He said. "Winslow and Cairns stopped by the _Enterprise _to poke at everything our last day. The day before she was _decommissioned, _if you can believe that. I had a headache after the first ten minutes and I must have been through it a thousand times already by then."

They chuckled about that for a bit.

Until T'Pol poked him across the bond.

Kinda hard.

_Trip, I require a response._

And Trip winced noticeably.

Archer was immediately concerned.

"Trip, are you okay?" He asked, brow furrowed. "You've been a little off since we got here. What's going on?"

"Ah, nothing." He shrugged. "Just a big damned headache I've been fighting all day."

_That is not humorous, Trip._

"Maybe you should see the doctor." Archer said. "I hear you managed to bribe somebody to get Andrews on board here. He knows his business. Why don't we stop by there before I go?"

"Nah, if I ignore it long enough it'll eventually shut the hell up."

Archer…looked a little confused at the wording. But he let it go.

T'Pol let it go for a bit, too.

Even if the not-so-subtle chill that descended across the bond made him shiver a little.

"But, look," Trip said. "That's actually not a bad idea. If you've got a minute, we didn't exactly catch up with everyone. Song was supposed to command this ship before T'Pol roped me into making this run. And we've got a few other folks from the old crew. Why don't you stick around for dinner? Wouldn't hurt my reputation around here to show off Admiral Archer for a while."

Archer grinned and even clapped him on the back one good time.

"Just what I was hoping to hear, Trip. Lead the way."

He did. And they caught up with the old crew.

And they had dinner and shared war stories. Captain Song and Doctor Andrews. Crowley, Steel and Roscoe.

And T'Pol, who Archer still hadn't recognized or realized was the very same Vulcan agent who worked alongside him in recovering the _Kir'shara_.

Or, as T'Pol would quickly correct, the agent who _he'd _helped recover the _Kir'shara_.

They hadn't ever taken the chance to nudge him to that realization. Or in any way so much as hint at it. It had long since become a fun little joke between them.

It wasn't funny right now, of course. Because as polite and gracious as they were at dinner…however friendly and how much fun everyone had catching up and spending time together again…

They were pretty pissed off at each other.

And by the time the meal ended, everyone said their goodbyes and Archer left the ship…to say that the bond was in an agitated state would be putting it mildly.

* * *

><p>T'Pol sat on the bed.<p>

Their bed, however technically the adjoining room might officially be considered her quarters.

Appearances required keeping up, after all. There were unwritten regulations that had to at least be passively acknowledged. Having separate quarters allowed the brass to pretend that they were. And never mind if T'Pol's official quarters were used by the stewards for spare storage.

This was appropriate and she'd insisted on it. Just as she'd insisted their quarters be officially _his _quarters. So that she could claim them as hers.

It was sort of a Vulcan thing.

But she sat on the bed. And she stared at the candle on the bedside table while she sat, attempting to meditate.

The insufferable, intractable Human in the bed beside her, however, was making that difficult.

He shifted slightly, where he lay on the bed.

_I am attempting to meditate._

"I'm laying right here." Trip grumped. "I might even hear you, if you did something as normal as speaking out loud."

"You find our bond abnormal?"

"Kinda finding it a pain in the ass right now."

"Perhaps I should take my half of the bond elsewhere to meditate. So that you can feel free to shift about, shaking the bed to your satisfaction."

"That'd be just great. Maybe I'll get up and jump up and down on it a few times."

"You are being very difficult today."

"Then I guess I should have tried harder. I was aiming for making clear how completely pissed off I am at you."

"I received that impression quite clearly."

"Wonderful. So why don't you meditate so I can get some sleep."

"Trip, how long are you going to be angry with me over this?"

"Seven goddamned months."

T'Pol suddenly…found herself seething.

She had just about had enough of this. Almost reached the limits of her patience.

The limits of logic, in availing herself of any possible…

He shifted in the bed again.

And she _slapped _out, smacking the top of the candle on the bedside table.

_Furious._

Knocking the candle loose from the table in the process, where it thumped to the floor unobserved.

Slinging her legs forward from the meditation position, out over the edge to thrust herself angrily from the bed…

…catching her feet in the sheet in the process. Which snatched at her legs, since the insufferable, intractable Human was lounging lazily all over them.

Forcing her to snatch at the table to keep from falling off the bed.

Where her hand fell directly into the comfortably warm, but just precisely too slippery puddle of candle wax she'd spilled there.

So that her hand shot out, rather than gaining any traction at all, and she flipped forward off the bed. Head first.

Barely catching herself in time with both hands flat on the floor.

Forcing her to angrily shimmy loose of the sheet with her butt in the air.

Until she could scramble in outrage back onto her feet, huffing in fury…ready to verbalize her hot, burning Vulcan indignation at what a complete ass he was being…

…and she stepped…and slipped…on the candle laying on the floor.

And fell right on her butt directly into the _other _puddle of warm wax now waiting to smear itself all over her underwear.

Where she sat.

And seethed.

Tense and furious.

While the Human witnessed it all, both directly and through their bond.

Even the humiliating and uncomfortable sensation of wax already beginning to harden again, all across the connecting surfaces of her underwear and the floor of the room.

And he was amused at this, turned over on the bed to watch. One hand casually propping his head up so that he could do so comfortably.

It was humiliating.

And infuriating.

But…she suddenly perceived that she'd been granted the upper hand here. Granted a uniquely dominant strategic position.

She need only take advantage of it. Firing the one simple shot…making the one easy strike…that would win this battle and bestow upon her the undisputed victory.

She drew a deep breath, turning to face him…facing his amusement at her predicament.

And she fired.

"I just want to say…that I love you, Trip."

He stared, no longer amused.

And she sat, in that humiliating position.

Waiting for victory.

Eventually…

"I'm scared, darlin'." He said, sadly.

"Trip, I understand that." She said, softly. "But you forget. We are greater than the sum of both of us."

"Anything could happen, T'Pol. You could end up having our baby here on a damned starship. Who knows how many light years from Starfleet territory? Maybe even…"

"Trip," She said. "I am strong and capable. My mate is brilliant and resourceful. This ship is potentially the most advanced vessel in the fleet. Everything will be fine. You know this to be true."

"I don't want to do this."

"We cannot allow this opportunity to pass. It will be another seven years until I am able to conceive again. And you will have the chance to see Lynn, and to settle issues with Ah'len that have festered for far too long. In the process of these things, we will secure our future. This opportunity is well worth the inherent risks, because the risks are minimal in reality and of significant concern only in your very emotional imagination."

Trip considered that, frowning.

So she sat in the now hard wax, gluing her to the floor.

And she waited for him to embrace logic.

"Okay." He said. "I guess you're right. But I'm still pretty scared."

"I will help you with your fear, Trip." She said, holding out her hand to him.

And he was hurting in his fear, she could see, so that he reached out eagerly to be comforted.

They kissed, in the entirely Vulcan fashion. And peace and comfort descended on them again.

Their bonded rejoiced and rewarded them both. She for achieving victory and restoring it to balance. He for embracing logic and accepting that her position was, quite obviously, correct.

He smirked a little. And snorted slightly.

"I guess I just let my emotions get the better of me." He admitted.

And of course, that was likely the case. His concerns were completely unfounded.

"That is understandable, Trip." She conceded, magnanimously. "But there is nothing to be concerned about. It is only a shakedown cruise."

* * *

><p><em>That's all, folks! <em>

_Thank you all for sharing this with me. :D_

_- Mary_

_(Dedicated to B. Simmons, candlelight)_


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